


Cooperation is Mandatory

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Werewolf Stan, stan twin feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:46:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stan was turned into a werewolf sometime during his drifter days. Also, Ford doesn't know as much as he thinks he does about the supernatural. The paranoia didn't help matters.</p><p>The story of how a werewolf and his twin brother are forced to live together and work through their issues instead of being separated by a portal for 30 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> my addition to the werewolf stan trope. The trope seems mainly stancest, but this fic really isn’t. It does involve a loot of stan brotherly bonding/working through issues
> 
>  ~~I don’t quite think this is a oneshot, but at the same time it’s not exactly a proper multi chapter. I’ll maybe make a couple more snapshot style chapters that are self contained plotwise (more or less)~~  
>  apparently I lie to myself sometimes, because this is definitely a full on story now haha
> 
> I've seen some people combine this with the fiddauthor ghoul thing as opposed to stancest, but that's not the case either. Ford's just human here. I do want some fidds interaction though if I write any more.

Stan hadn't been lying when he said there was nothing about this portal business that he understood. He also hadn't been lying when he said he had been around the world. And that meant seeing many things, and even strange things.

What, did Ford think he was the only one who paid attention to anomalies? Stan had suspected right away when the postcard told him to come to Gravity Falls, Oregon. It wasn't the specific town so much as the area- anyone who had been around like Stan had knew that part of the country was to be avoided. All things strange multiplied the closer one got to Oregon wilderness. In fact, Stan had only been a state over when THAT had happened. 

Stan had reason enough to avoid the place. But Ford had needed him, so here he was. And here he also was, talking about mistakes and journals and danger. 

“-you are the only one I can trust with this.” Ford held out his journal- the first of three, apparently. Stan tried not to balk at it- there was something about the smell, or perhaps an instinct that was warning him. And Stan had learned to listen to his instincts. “Stan please, focus! I need you to take this last journal!”

Stan eyed it warily. Yes, it wasn't his imagination- there was something decidedly very off with it. The last time Stan had ignored such a warning had been the silver incident. And that hadn't been much fun at all. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Look, is there any way you can just sit down and explain-” 

He had been meaning to buy time, but Ford cut him off. “Stanley, there's no time! I'm being watched, can't you listen for once in your life!” And he pushed the journal forcefully into Stan's held up hands. Automatically, Stan gripped the book as Ford released it. 

For a moment, all was fine. “Now, I have something to ask of you. Remember our...” Stan stopped listening. His hands lit up in sudden flaring pain. It was worse than the silver incident, so much worse. Stan didn't even attempt to hold back a scream as sparks of something arced between his fingers. He couldn't release his grip, and the sparks rippled up his arms, making some crackling noise he could barely hear. And then he was blasted back, the journal flying in the opposite direction. 

“Wha- what are you!?” Rather than any amount of concern, Ford had immediately backed up, glaring suspiciously as he had at the front door. Stan gasped and wheezed, shaking his arms out. The pain had disappeared as quickly as it had come, but he could barely breathe from the intensity and shock of it all. Finally, he caught his breath and pulled himself into a sitting position, hands still twitching. Only to be stopped by his brother shouting. “Not one more step, whatever you are!” 

Stan paused. Well, the gun he was holding looked strange, but it was a step up from the crossbow. “I'm your brother. I thought we were past that. And what's with the party trick there? A little too strong to be very funny.” 

“That journal shouldn't have done anything to you, if you were human. It's warded against every supernatural being imaginable, and some even beyond that. My brother is definitely human, so I'm going to ask once more- what are you?” 

Stan gulped. For the first time, he was actually scared of his brother, of what he could do. “You one of those hunter types?” Stan ventured. His secret was out so quickly. Stan never would have suspected Ford to be one of those people who went around silencing all of the supernatural. But then again, he never would have suspected he could turn a gun on his own twin. Granted, Ford clearly didn't believe that Stan was who he was. 

“No, but for you I can be. What happened to the real Stanley? I swear you will regret ever being born if you did something to him.” The gun- something almost futuristic and clearly not one that shot bullets- whirred into activity.

“You're not making sense sixer, I am the real Stanley! I've just been-” The gun made a noise, and suddenly Stan's leg was on fire. He screamed and curled over the burn spot. “What the hell-!”

“Don't you dare call me sixer! I know you're not him- what did you get him to tell you? My brother is many things, but he wouldn't go around sharing his nickname for me!” Ford advanced, and Stan froze. He had to do something, Ford wasn't listening to reason. 

“You're right, I wouldn't, that's why I'm using it now! I'm still me, I've just been changed!”

“Into what? I've seen the kind of creatures humans can get turned into. Zombies and ghosts... things that either lose their minds or their bodies! Either way, they don't pass for human anymore.”

Stan felt a cold chill go down his back. So Ford was one of those types that knew about supernatural things but had a bias against them. He would never believe Stan was human because he thought Stan's type was mindless. Which also meant that no matter what, Stan would be a dead man if he couldn't find a way out of here. The thought of Ford thinking of Stan like that was unimaginable, and yet it was the plain truth. 

Stan stilled for as long as possible as Ford stepped closer with his gun trained. But Stan had gotten out of worst binds. All he had to do was think of Ford as the enemy and not his brother. As a hunter, not a friend. He could do this. 

'Doing this' consisted of snapping up the second Ford got close enough and tearing his gun away. Ford was not as practiced as some hunters or even fellow petty criminals had been. Stan could never turn the gun on Ford, but he could and did kick Ford in the gut to create distance before scrambling to his feet. He knew he would never use it, but he pointed the gun at Ford all the same. “ You stay away from me poindexter, or I'll shoot back!” Stan wasn't above a bluff. 

“Don't- Stop calling me that!” Ford covered his ears, hunching down. “Stop trying to impersonate him!”

“I am not!” Stanley shouted so loud that the lower rumbles of his other set of vocal cords bled in. They both froze at the inhuman sound. “You used to be the most observant guy I knew. And now you live in the middle of Oregon of all places and can't figure out the simple fact that things can happen to people that aren't their fault!”

Ford lowered his hands, glaring at Stan. “You never used to know me because you're not Stanley! I demand to know what you've done to the real one!” 

Ford's leg tensed. “I've got a gun!” Stan tried his bluff again. Ford ran anyways. Stan couldn't shoot, and the gun flew across the room as he was full body tackled out of the portal room and into some levers. Stan shouted again- everything still hurt from that journal. What was it even made out of?

It was perhaps a good thing though, as the contact with the journal had also sapped the strength from Stan, and he only had enough to push and punch and kick at Ford as any human would. A good thing, because Stan was definitely panicking too much to hold back when he knew he could kill people by accident. Ford had lost his mind somewhere and was just attacking Stan. For his part, Stan was trying to fend him off- if he could just throw his twin a few feet away, he could get up and run. If he could get alone in the elevator, he was home free. Stan was a fast runner when it counted, and his car was even faster. 

Stan managed to get the upper hand for a moment, and taken by the anger he pushed forward instead of running like he had planned. Ford kicked back with all his strength, catching Stan right in the midsection. He fell back from the force, and right into something else that was burning hot.

If Stan had been more conscious, he would have worried for his vocal cords. But he couldn't stop this scream any more than the last. The thick scent of burned coat and flesh clogged his nose, and Stan idly recognized that this was an actual burn and not just a magical one. He pulled himself off of the hot surface and writhed. Maybe it was magical too, because now Stan's entire body was burning.

“Tha- thankfully I placed a sigil in the control panel for protection and the revealing of lies. Not the most humane way, but you'll have to reveal your true form now.” Stan could only make out Ford's feet now as he curled up, his shouts turning into garbled cries. It felt like a transformation, but it was nowhere near the full moon and three times as painful.

“You.. what's happening? You should be changed by now!” 

“I-Aughh- I told ya!” Stan groaned out as bones shifted and re-shifted, not knowing where to settle. “I am Stanley Pines damn it!” Even his skin was bubbling and warping in protest.

Vaguely Stan caught sight of Ford falling to his knees. “That.. can't be. I've never- there's nothing- you CAN'T be my brother.” 

Finally, something seemed to settle and Stan could at least put his arms between him and the floor. He pushed up only to lose balance and stumble. A hand reached out automatically to steady him, and Stan flinched back. Ford wasn't here to help. He was one of those types. “L-look, if you're going to off me just do it, alright? I can't take this anymore..” Stan wheezed through the strange rasp in his voice. “I can't take you thinking I'm not a person just cause I'm a werewolf.”

Ford was silent for a long moment as Stan struggled into a sitting position and failed to turn it into a standing one. “...were...wolf?”

“Don't act so surprised, you obviously coated that journal in silver or something.”

“S-Stan, werewolves... aren't real. Not the type that can talk and pretend to be human.”

Stan snorted. “Of course you'd say that. 'Pretend', eh? Hunter types.” He licked his lips over teeth that were longer and sharper than they should be. The sigil-thingamajig did something. He wasn't fully transformed, he wasn't staring down a furry snout, nor did he have four legs. But something partial had happened. 

“No, I didn't mean it like that! I've never- I've never encountered anything that used to be human that could talk or communicate at all! Vampires sure, but contrary to popular belief, they were never human- they just look it! I've seen man-wolf creatures, but they don't talk. I tried.”

The topic somehow brought Stan slightly out of his predicament, and he rolled his eyes. “Of course not, sixer. That's an omega you're thinking of. Trapped mid shift, they lose their minds. Happens if you turn back and forth too often, or get real hurt.” And Stan was brought suddenly back. “Oh geez.” He was mid shift. Why was he mid shift? And why was he conscious? Was he about to go insane? Stan's heart beat faster.

“I-that- Stan, that changes everything! Oh my- I'm so sorry!”

That made Stan pause. “What, you believe me now?”

Ford looked at the sigil, then to Stan's shoulder, then away. “That thing I... pushed you into. It reveals your true form. And you still look like Stan. Somewhat, anyways.” 

Stan glanced down to his hands. They were bulkier, somehow. Still human shaped, but with sharp claws. He flexed them warily. “Not that I'm against this revelation, but I look less like myself than ever.”

Ford took in a deep breath. “I, I think. Given the new hypothesis of intelligent werewolves that can switch between forms. Nothing would happen to a human because they are in their true form. But your wolf form would be true as well, if perhaps less so. The sigil may have... brought it out, but not all the way or even halfway.”

Stan tried to get a look at the still smoking burn and yelped a rather dog like yelp. Just moving his torso set lances of pain from his shoulder. “Wh- for how long? I can't walk around like, like whatever I look like! The whole world ain't weird country like here!” 

“Don't move, please! I'll, I'll get something for that, but please don't move.” Ford stood and backed up, slowly as if Stan was a startled rabbit. To be fair, he was indeed considering the merits of bolting off somewhere to lick his wounds so to speak. This place was clearly not safe.

“Oh my goodness- the portal!?” Ford ran past Stan and to the levers they had just been fighting against. “I should have broke it, disconnected something- either of us could have fallen in! And that's not even counting the instability- I can't believe-!” Ford was whirring over the control panel, tapping at buttons and pulling at levers. A loud hum that Stan hadn't even noticed suddenly shut off, leaving the room in more silence than Stan thought possible. 

“We're safe now. The portal's shut.” Ford slumped against the panel. Stan nearly flinched at the loudness. Thanks to that humming, he hadn't realized his hearing had picked up even more than usual. If this really was a partial shift, Stan supposed that made sense. 

The silence also cleared his mind. If Stan wanted to run for it, now was his chance. Ford was distracted. But Ford was also not murderous anymore, presumably. At the same time, Stan still didn't know how Ford would react. He seemed shocked into sincerity for now, but who knew what would happen if Ford came to the decision that Stan still wasn't human enough. And who knew how long Stan would be stuck as half a wolf? No, perhaps it was better to just get out of here.

Stan made several quiet attempts to get to his feet while Ford's back was turned, rummaging through something or other. Maybe, if he crawled? Stan made it about three body lengths before the pain became too great and he fell against the floor with a whimper. 

Ford's head whipped back, hands buried in a first aid kit. “What are you doing, Stan? You'll hurt yourself if you move!” Stan didn't respond, too busy gasping and trying not to look caught out. “You're.. trying to escape?” He whispered. Suddenly the attempt seemed almost shameful. Stan shouldn't have to feel ashamed of trying to get out of there!

The problem was, Ford's hurt expression did bring out shame. “Look. This is obviously all crazy. I want to trust you Ford, but you literally just tried to kill me!”

“I didn't think it was you! I'd never try to kill you, I thought a shapeshifter or something was impersonating you!”

Stan balked at the pain in Ford's words. “How do I know you still won't decide I can't be me!? There are people out there who just think anyone supernatural is a monster. And you've been treating everything up here like a science experiment, haven't you?”

Ford lowered his arms, distress in every line of his face. “I didn't.. I didn't know werewolves like you existed. I would never... Stanley, you're still yourself, with the same mind and consciousness. I'm sorry I didn't see that before. Knowing that now, I would never think you a monster.”

Still, Stan tried to inch away. Ford was making so much sense, but after all of that the last thing Stan wanted to do was lower his guard. “I look like a monster now, too. And I don't know for how long. I can't switch back, I don't think. I can never switch back if the moon isn't at least half full normally, and right now it's just a crescent.”

“That's exactly why you should stay here for now, and let me treat you.” Ford leaped at the chance. “I'll do all I can to reverse the sigil. And you can't just run around obviously partially shifted. Even the people around here would notice, and they never notice anything.”

Stan had to stop at that, and tilt forward in consideration. “...What DO I look like now?”

Ford sighed, letting out a small smile. “IF you hold stilll and let me keep looking, I can find you a mirror. And some salve for those burns.”

Slowly, Stan forced his muscles to relax slightly from their tensed positions. Finally, his arms stopped trembling as he released the pressure he had put them through. “That sounds alright.”

Nothing about this was alright, but maybe they could get better.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to the previous chapter. Stan takes in the changes made to his body

Stan would never admit it in a million years, but just the act of finally releasing his guard was enough to quickly send him into sleep. He would also never admit that when he woke up and felt his pains swathed in bandages, a warm feeling arose. Someone had actually gone out of their way to take care of him.

Then the rest of the previous day caught up to him and Stan figured he was allowed to feel a bit sentimental. Clearly, Ford had made good on his offer. Or at least, he hadn't offed Stanley while he was sleeping, or even called someone who would. Perhaps he really was telling the truth?

Stan hauled himself out of the cot he had been dragged into, still in the basement. It was honestly a surprise he hadn't woken up while being moved. With living on the road, Stan had been a light sleeper even before lycanthropy had heightened his alertness. And where was Ford now?

The scent of his brother and someone unfamiliar was almost too thick down here, and Stan shook his head. He wasn't used to smelling things that sharply in his human form. Or whatever form he was in now. Hesitantly, Stan glanced back at his shoulder- it was covered with crisp white bandages, but Stan could also feel some sort of wet dressing underneath. It smelled sharp and tangy, whereas whatever dressing that was on his hands and the gun wound on his leg smelled more natural. Sharp yes, but distinctly medicinal. 

It would probably be better to leave them alone, Stan figured. Maybe wait and see what Ford had to say about it. Stan paused in his uncertain steps forward. Wasn't that strange- him being in a position to hear Ford's opinions, and to even expect them to be given! It had been so long that they couldn't possible go back to the way things were, and yet, Ford had helped him. Gone completely crazy first of course, but helped him in the end. It was nice. 

Of course, what would also be nice is finding that mirror Ford offered. But there weren't any that Stan could see lying around. Maybe he forgot about it? Stan did fall asleep after all. Oh well, Stan could just take the elevator up. He could stand to use the washroom anyhow. 

Getting to the elevator was a challenge in and of itself. There was something distinctly wrong with his legs, they seemed to bend strangely, throwing Stan this way and that. And damn it, taking more than a few steps had brought the pain in his shoulder screaming back. Stan was already moving though, and he'd been beaten up by muggers and left for dead miles from town. If Stan could crawl back to the safety of his car then, he could certainly take a few measly steps through a house. 

Stan did actually make it to the washroom, slipping and sliding and grunting all the way. And then he looked in the mirror. “Damn..” There was no other way to put it. It wasn't so drastic that Stan couldn't recognize his face, but rather there was JUST enough wrong to put him on edge. He flicked the too long fuzzy ears that had replaced his old ones. And then reflexively they flinched back. Stan gaped- he could move them? At least a bit, anyways. He hoped the sensitivity was just from how new they were, because that flick had actually stung. Stan supposed he was grateful that they were at least in the same location they'd always been and not moved to the top of his head as they did in his normal full shift.

Stan opened his mouth next, and sure enough his new teeth were as sharp and nonhuman as he recalled from last night. They seemed bigger as well, although Stan couldn't tell if his jaw had actually grown to accommodate the change or not. He leaned back from the mirror, trailing a hand over the soft fuzz now surrounding the base of his ears. He looked again at the thick claws that had replaced his fingernails, poking out from where the bandages ended. This would not be easy to write off at all. 

That was when Stan heard footsteps outside the doorway. “Stanley, you're awake!” Ford did not look well. In fact, it looked like he hardly had any sleep at all. “How- how are you feeling?”

Stan glanced at his twin. “Like a circus act.” He deadpanned. “Didja figure out how to reverse this yet?”

Ford visibly wilted. “Ah, not exactly. I took a look of course, but it was a very bad burn, I thought it best to treat it before infection set in. Not to mention the gun shot, and the contact damage from the journal's protection wards...” He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

Stan sighed. “It's...” He couldn't say it was fine. It wasn't fine at all. “You were out of your mind.” Not an excuse, but perhaps an explanation. “What did you want me to do with that thing, anyways?”

Ford glanced to the floor, shuffling his feet. Stan could read his nervousness like a book, even after all these years. “It doesn't matter now, I suppose. I wanted you to hide it for me, but you can't even hold it. For that matter you can't go anywhere to hide it now, either.”

Stan focused at that. “What do you mean I can't go nowhere?” 

“Well, I mean, looking like that? And you yourself said there was such things as hunters? Which is another thing I've never heard of, it's like no one in this town is capable of knowing anything-”

“Ford, come on.” Stan interrupted. “Obviously I can't hide out in weird country forever. This whole area gives the the creeps.”

“Well no, of course not forever. But at least until I've found a way to reverse your partial transformation. It would help if I knew more about the proper werewolf species, and not just the 'omegas' as you called them. I can't believe I've never encountered anything of your kind before.” 

Stan couldn't help a chuckle at that. “Well, luckily you've got one right here. Though you might want to put some food in him before you start any questions.”

“Ah, right, of course. I'm sure I have something in the kitchen... is your diet unchanged? Any foods become toxic? Oh, but wait, you wouldn't know if anything is different in this form. How does your digestion change between shifts? We can extrapolate given that this is a state drawing from both forms...” Ford trailed off, taking on his thinking expression, the one Stan knew always meant that Ford was doing something complicated in his head.

“I haven't tried eating chocolate in wolf shape, if that's what you're asking. I'm pretty sure I like meat even more than I used to before the change, but that could just be because I miss it.”

Ford frowned. “What do you mean by missing meat?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I live in my car. Other than in cheap burgers, I can't exactly afford meat or have anywhere to store it.”

“You don't live in your car- I sent a postcard to your place. Took a lot of tracking down, too.”

Stan sighed at the comment. “If you went to the trouble of tracking me down, you had to know I wasn't there long. I think I was a week off from leaving when it came, too. When I get a big break, I rent a place for a couple months. But big breaks never last long, then it's back to the car. Now do you have any grub or not?”

Ford didn't answer for a long moment, his face frozen between surprised and guilty. “Right,” He said, changing the topic. “Follow me.”

Stan did so, nearly sprawling onto the floor at the first step as his legs wobbled under him. “Shit-” He swore, grabbing the door frame. Ford immediately turned back to steady him. “Can't seem to keep my balance for some reason.” 

Carefully, he steadied himself and took proper steps. Ford hovered, hands moving to Stan's shoulder again at the slightest amount of tipping. “I can hardly blame you. I believe your legs were completely restructured from plantigrade to digitigrade.”

“Digi.. what?” Stan looked down. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed. Even obscured by his pants, there was a distinctly different shape to his legs. Which had also apparently grown, because the ankles of his pants were both ripped and too short, revealing some very strangely shaped feet.

“Digitigrade. Means you walk on your toes.” 

“I have wolf legs. Oh my god.” Stan groaned. “Will I have to walk on all fours from now on? I can't do that, I'd rather be stuck with a cane and just hobble everywhere.” And worst of all, he wouldn't be able to make any kind of quick getaway like this. Could he even operate the pedals of a car?

“Actually, despite obviously coming from the wolf's quadruped design, your new legs seem just as adapted to biped locomotion as your previous ones. I imagine your gait will end up quite similar to birds or biped dinosaurs, who are also digitigrade.” 

Stan groaned again. “I'm too hungry to listen to nerd talk. Just please tell me this is it, no more weird surprises.”

Ford quirked his lips, almost unconsciously. “Assuming you've noticed the changes to your hands and face? Other than the fact that your chest seems to be a bit more barrel shaped than before, that should be it.” Stan let out a breath of relief. “Oh, and there's also the fact that you have a tail now.” 

Stan stopped moving. He stopped and stood there for a long time. “You're joking. Please tell me you're joking, sixer.” His voice was weak, unbelieving. 

“I'm afraid not. In fact, its shape reminds me somewhat of the newfoundland dog breed. Combined with the webbing on your fingers and toes, it is quite curious. I wasn't aware werewolves could have breed-like characteristics like that, although I suppose it makes some sense.”

Stan ignored Ford, and flexed his spine. Sure enough, he felt it, his tail arching up as his muscles pulled. Stan was almost surprised at the range of motion he could feel from the foreign appendage. Almost surprised. Because the range of motion didn't matter. He had a tail. 

“You know what, I give up. This is stupid.” And Stan surged the last few steps into the kitchen and into a seat. Now he was entirely too much aware of the changes: ears that could shift and twitch, legs with strange joints, and a tail of all things. These were all too natural in his wolf form. But pasted onto his human half as they were, Stan couldn't feel more out of place. 

Ford immediately set to heating a pan up and taking out some eggs. “I.. don't mean to tease. It's just, you know, a little strange. Interesting of course, and it reminds me somewhat of a species from DD&D, but, well, I suppose it's stranger for you than it is for me.”

Stan snorted. “You got that right.” Carefully he ignored the part about being compared to something from Ford's nerd game. He could make fun of it like he always did, but Stan wasn't quite up to it. He didn't know if he could do the normal teasing thing after all this time without turning it into something worse. “I'll just be happy when this is gone so I can be on my way.” The statement hurt, but Stan knew he'd have to leave. 

Strangely, Ford turned at that moment with a stricken, surprised expression. “Well,” Stan huffed, feeling a sudden need to explain himself. “ I obviously can't do that thing you wanted me here to do, right? So once I look passably human again I'll get out of your way.” After all, it's not like Stanford really wanted him here. He as much as admitted to being able to track Stan down whenever he wanted. If Ford had wanted his company, he'd have sent word ages ago. 

“R-right.” Ford turned back to the pan. “ I'll have to find some other way to hide my journal. After finding out how to break your sigil.” 

Stan let his head lie on the table. The mark on his shoulder almost seemed to pulse as he focused on it. He hoped it would be as simple as it sounded, after all, the mark had gone on easily enough. But Stan knew from personal experience that few things were ever as easy to undo as they were to do in the first pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated a long time on whether to give Stan a tail. I'm worried that it would seem too much like a "cutesy anime furry" type thing, but in the end, I figured that with digitigrade legs Stan probably needs it for balance. After all, pretty much everything with those legs has a tail, and I figure Stan's posture will probably be more forward tilted as he walks, so the tail works as a counter balance.
> 
> inspiration for Stan's half form actually came from the more humanlike sketches in this post (warning for light stancest) http://theywerefireworks.tumblr.com/post/130185113703/w-w-werewolf-stan-tho
> 
> The newfoundland-like qualities came from this discussion post http://renmorris.tumblr.com/post/129383642483/more-werewolf-stan-things-he-gets-really-hyper-and
> 
> also fun fact- most of my desire for making a stan werewolf fic in the first place was ~~form a post I can't find anymore for some reason, but it was a couple of sketches and one was of a massive mostly wolf shaped stan holding mabel in his mouth by the sweater and she's like "look dipper I've been scruffed! I'm like a kitten!" and it was basically the cutest thing ever. Also there's a sketch of werewolf stan giving telling gideon to fuck off and that's pretty great too.~~  
>  Ecchima found it for me! http://stan-o-wars.tumblr.com/post/130054616067/gravity-garbage-and-i-have-been-talking-werewolf (warning for stancest technically but the post itself is pretty ambiguous about it)


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gets a little stir crazy

To say that things settled into an easy rhythm would be a lie. Obviously, Stan knew it would take more than a few days to solve his predicament. Ford wouldn't even look at the wound until it was healed up, and instead resorted to poring through those journals. “If it were stamped onto dead matter, it would be as simple as disrupting the line. But it's been branded on your back, Stanley. These things are always complicated and enhanced by the introduction of living tissue. Even more so when we take into account that it's a burn- it probably took that as a flesh sacrifice which complicates things more. There's a reason I had it in the console and not on myself.”

Stan could only huff at that. “Hey, don't act like this is my fault.” Ford would always shut up after that. But Stan understood, he really did. That didn't mean he wasn't driven insane after over a week cooped up in this dusty shack. It didn't help that Ford demanded to be alone while he worked on Stan's problem, as well as forbidding Stan from leaving the shack. 

“I'm serious, Stanley. This isn't a matter of control, but a matter of safety.” Stan mocked his brother's words of warning in a fake falsetto voice. “Easy for the natural recluse to say.” Stan leveled another glare at the door leading to the elevator. 

The problem was that Stan was never one to sit still and have others do things for him. Ford repeatedly rebuffed offers to help, which only annoyed Stan more. Was he still considered so useless? Did Ford think Stan so stupid that he couldn't have anything to contribute even when his actual life was in the balance? He couldn't do this freak show nonsense forever. Not unless he wanted to find himself part of an actual freak show. Stan wondered if maybe Ford thought he would mess things up again, like he did the last time they had a project between them. It was probably better not to ask.

Stan paced through the rooms of the research shack again. It wasn't big enough. He had gotten the hand of these new legs easily enough within a few days, only for it not to matter because he was still quarantined in this tiny space. It wasn't enough. Stan had always felt somewhat discomforted when it came to enclosed spaces, ever since turning. The only exception was his car- his home and place of safety. But even the car was sometimes too much, especially when the full moon was near. Here, the full moon was about a week and a half off since Stan had arrived on a waning moon. It was only a waxing crescent now, and somehow Stan felt almost as itchy and contained as he did just before the full!

Stan would have liked to transform. He had a feeling like maybe he could, even though he was so far from a full moon. But of course, there came the decree of Ford: “You can't know what will happen if you try a shift now. With the effects of the sigil, you could end up trapped fully in that form! Or you may not be able to fully access it. What if you became one of those omegas I've encountered? You mentioned that they occur due to some sort of shifting accident, you can't take that risk.” It made sense, but if that were the case Ford had better have a cure by the time the moon actually came around or Stan was toast.

“I can't take this anymore.” Stan growled, loud and deep. He was stuck half shifted. He was stuck in this tiny shack. Something was going to give, and he had already torn Ford's pillows to shreds yesterday (and hadn't that been a fun conversation). Stan gave a glance to the elevator door. Then a glance to the front door. 

Stan really, really didn't want to disappoint his brother. Not when they had just been reunited, despite the fact that their meeting had involved a lot of pain on Stan's end and actual disfigurement. There was some family instinct that made Stan want to be trusted by Ford again, even though there were many reasons why he shouldn't care any more. 

At the same time though, the door was right there. Ford had said to stay, and usually Stan would listen to him. Ford was always reliable when it came to assessing risk. Hadn't listening to Ford back when they were children saved Stan from breaking his leg like the other kids did launching their bikes off of some teenager's home built ramp? Stan had been so disappointed in losing out on the fun, but half of that group ended up in the hospital. 

Of course, that was back then. And this Ford now was a different person. The type of person who's first thought at seeing his long lost brother at the door was: “have you come to steal my eyes!?”. He was the type of person who went ballistic at seeing something outside of his expectations, to the point where he wouldn't listen to reason and threw his own brother onto a magical brand. 

Stan shuddered, hand patting at the still bandaged shoulder. No, the Ford Stan was with now was definitely changed. And definitely had a skewed sense of danger towards things. Stan looked at the doorway again, this time with more determination. Ford wouldn't be up for hours, Stan could sneak out and back in.

...Who was he kidding? Stan wasn't some teenager sneaking out from his parents. Ford was Stan's brother, not his caretaker, and Stan was nearly thirty years old. This was ridiculous, all supernatural shenanigans aside. He would just go out for a run in the woods. Not even a shifted run. As long as he stayed away from other people and from weird creatures, he would be just fine.

And with that, Stan opened the door with a flourish, closing it neatly behind him. He took a deep breath of fresh forest air. Even with that strange creepy feeling that Oregon country always had, it smelled like freedom. Stan set off in the direction that felt most promising. 

He made it two steps before the deep snow froze straight through his socks into his feet. “Shit!” He hopped back to the porch. He'd forgotten- just because he had dog-like legs didn't mean he had the same protection. His feet and legs did have more hair now, something like a very sparse coat of fur. But it was nothing against the snow, and even if he did, there were no foot pads to protect the underside of his feet. 

Boots were in order then. Stan grabbed his own pair and sat down on the porch. Socks had been easy enough, as flexible as they were. But boots were a different story. Still, he tried to stuff his new feet in, curling his toes when it turned out to be too short. With some struggling, he got most of his foot in, and all of the part that would be against the snow at least. It would have to be good enough. 

Standing up again was a challenge, but Stan managed it. He would definitely be needing new boots after this, the already worn structure straining against the misuse. This time, he also remembered to shrug his coat and mitts on. 

The first few steps in the snow were wobbly, but Stan pressed on. He stopped by his car, already covered in snow. The inside almost looked inviting, but Stan wasn't out here to curl up in one spot, even if it was his home. So he kept going, nearly tripping over a bush that had been covered up. Stan's arms pinwheeled, but he was saved from a crash. 

God, Stan hoped this would be over soon.

His stronger nose led him deeper into the woods. Stan wasn't even certain what he was searching for, but smell seemed like as good a sense to go by as any. The woods were very quiet, to the point where the slightest twig crackling in the wind brought his ears twitching up. 

A sudden thump from nearby startled Stan out of his wits and onto his backside. He twisted and scrambled up, looking for the threat. It turned out to be a squirrel. A squirrel frozen solid. 

“That's- that's pleasant.” He croaked, warily backing away. Just how cold was it? Sure, Stan was freezing, but he was used to freezing. Since when did it freeze so much that squirrels froze out of their hibernation? For that matter, did squirrels even hibernate? Stan shook his head and kept going, giving the dead squirrel a wide berth. 

It was a short while after that when Stan tripped over a tree root he hadn't seen and was sent sprawling again. He yelped loudly as a hard knot from the same root hit the burn on his leg. He lay there for a few moments. Stan had dealt with a lot of things in his time, up to and including becoming a werewolf in the first place. But at that moment, even the act of standing up seemed entirely too difficult. 

At least it was quiet. The snow was soft, and not so cold with his coat and mitts and boots. He could hear the soft, distant noises of air through tree branches, and very faint skittering of some kind of forest creature under the snow. He could even hear the low vibrations of something bigger lumbering further in the distance. Funny how its steps sounded human.

Stan sat up, focusing in the direction of the sound. It was from where he had come. Was it Ford? Stan immediately felt slightly ashamed at the idea of being caught out. But he shouldn't have to, Ford wasn't his captor, he was hardly even his brother at this point. Still, Stan flipped the fuzzy hood over his head. It was more of a mental comfort than any real protection, but it helped. 

Sure enough, it didn't take long for Ford to come crashing through the brush, almost at a sprint. “Stan! What are you doing out here!? I told you not to leave!” He stumbled to a stop. “Are-” He caught his breath. “Are you alright? Were you attacked by anything?”

Stan balked at the authoritative tone, but was slightly mollified by the concern. He wondered how to answer. After a second of deliberation, he went with: “Needed a break. S'too stifling in there.”

 

“Too stifling!? Stan, it's barely been more than a week! You can't be running off all the time, it's not safe!”

Stan rolled his eyes, finally pushing himself up onto his feet. “Look sixer, I got this. I was extra careful not to go towards civilization. I dunno why you think I'm such an idiot, but I get that I don't wanna be seen like this. I know how to avoid people.”

“No, you don't!” Ford strode forward and grabbed Stan by the fluff of his jacket. “You can't avoid what you don't know about! Stan, do you think I'm just worried about people!? You have no idea what's out in this forest!”

Stan gripped his twins wrists and tried to pry them off, but Ford was holding fast. “I know this place is weird! I can tell it's weird, everyone knows that everything bad comes to weird country! Why do you think I don't know anything!?” 

“Because you don't! Stan, you don't know what I've been through, what I've seen! If you did, you'd stay in the house like I asked!”

Stan growled, drawing on his wolf side instinctively. “No, you don't know what I've been through! I had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car! I was almost cremated live! I know when there's danger and when to get away!”

That seemed to cause Ford pause. He stared at Stan, his eyes still wild and sweat gathering at his temples. “If- if you've really been through all that, then you HAVE to know how dangerous this place is. Even the protections on the shack aren't enough, but they're something. I can hardly keep myself safe out here, nev- nevermind anyone else. Not after him..” 

Stan deflated at that. “Look, there's nothing attacking me now. And nothing came up on me the entire time. I've got even better ears than usual right now.” 

Ford's eyes flickered to Stan's suspiciously. “You're- you're sure? Nothing appeared before you, or was sent your way?” 

“No... I mean, there was a frozen squirrel, but-” He flinched back against the tree behind him as Ford suddenly surged into his personal space, fingers poking at his eyes. “Ow, knock it off, would ya!” Ford furrowed his eyebrows, ignoring Stan until he saw whatever it was he wanted to see. 

“Sorry, just- just checking. And I'm sorry for yelling. But can we please go back to the house?”

“Only if you explain who 'he' is, and what's got you so jumpy.”

Immediately, Ford shifted, looking away. “I- that's not, you can't expect-” He cut himself off. “That's neither here nor there.”

Stan frowned. “Well, I think it is. I know there's a lot of supernatural stuff going down here, but something's obviously got you worked up. And I deserve to know.” Stan swallowed. “Especially since you being so worked up is why I'm in this mess right now to begin with.”

Ford's shoulders slumped, and he shifted his glasses. “I- I suppose.” Stan turned his head as a strange slithering noise made itself heard between Ford's words. “Now, let's-” Stan shushed him, ears pricking at the foreign noise. It was half soft, half crumbly, and all very uncomfortable. “What, do you hear something?” Ford whispered. Stan held up a hand in warning.

“Listen, sixer,” He began in a low voice as the noise seemed to surround them. “You know how I just said I have a good sense of danger?” Ford nodded, worry and understanding in his eyes. “Yeah. I'm not sure what it is, but it's already got us surrounded.”

Immediately, Ford's hand went to his coat, pulling out his crossbow in one swift movement. “Not the gun?” Stan hissed in disbelief. 

“The gun's a prototype. Only has three good shots. Plus, they're not usually lethal.” Ford carefully scanned the trees around them. “There's not as many active creatures in the winter, but what's left is more dangerous. What do you hear?”

“It's half slithery, half crumbling. Like sliding and packing snow?” In half a heartbeat, Ford latched onto Stan's forearm with the hand not holding a crossbow. 

“Winter sprites. We- we need to go!” Stan barely had the time to duck as a sudden projectile smashed into the tree he had just been standing in front of. Stan didn't need more warning than that, and took off. 

Ford turned back and launched his crossbow. Stan followed it's trajectory only to watch it land in a snowdrift. “Wha- you missed!” 

“No, I didn't!” Ford shouted, pulling Stan into a faster gait at the same time as a loud bellow rent the air. Stan glanced back again- the snow mound had shifted into a head shaped blob, the arrow sticking out of where the eye should be. That was, until it rearranged itself and snapped the arrow shaft while arms and legs solidified underneath it. “Run! Don't let them catch up!”

Stan whipped back to face his brother. He moved his legs as fast as he could, but kept slipping and stumbling over the ill fitting boots. Each time, Ford's surprisingly strong grip hauled him up and kept him moving forward. The loud sounds of a creature now bigger than life came uncomfortably close. 

A root snagged at his foot. Stan lurched forward, arm ripped by gravity from Ford's grip. “Stan!” He rolled with the fall, jumping back up. Something whooshed by his backside and smashed into the ground just by his head. Stan leaped to his feet and decidedly kicked off his boots, ignoring the frigid air and the immediate wetness to his socks. 

Ford had somehow managed to mount his crossbow and fire it again. The snow monster was now as tall as the trees around them. “Come on!” He reached out his hand. Stan jumped forward and grabbed it with his own, landing on his toes like he'd been born this way. 

Ignoring the sheer cold, Stan actually managed to outpace Ford, his longer legs making larger strides. Hand in hand, they shot post the Stanleymobile and raced full tilt to the house. The monster stopped at the treeline, howling threateningly. Ford jumbled for his keys, slamming the door open as soon as it was unlocked, and bolting it back from the inside. 

Stan peeled off his soaking wet socks and immediately collapsed, pressing his own body heat over the cold appendages. “Well, that was, that was something.” 

Ford wiped the sweat off hos brow before shrugging off his boots. “It was. Winter sprites like to possess snow. Thankfully, they can actually feel pain from their constructs even if it doesn't really injure them, which is why I could distract it with the crossbow.”

They both took several minutes to catch their breath. Then Ford spoke again. “Listen, Stan. I know I haven't been very.. forthcoming. And you're right, there is a specific threat I've found- worse than the sort of thing we just encountered, even though that was also a reason I wanted you to stay inside. I'm just- I'm just not sure how to go into it.”

Stan looked at his twin- not just a glance, but a real look. “Ford. You're not doing well at all, are you? I mean in general.” 

Ford chuckled at that. “No, I don't think I am. But I was serious about you saying in the house. Just what possessed you to leave?”

The question was much easier to answer, back in the safety of the house. It seemed more genuine now, and without the outright accusation. “I told you, I had to get out. I was going stir crazy in here, I can't stay in such small spaces for so long.”

Ford furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “You haven't even been here two weeks. How can you possibly be stir crazy so soon? To the point where you'd risk going outside? Are you sure you weren't just frustrated at me or something?”

Now Stan laughed as well. “A bit, maybe. You haven't been very cooperative, hiding away downstairs and not letting me out. But it was mostly the stir crazy. Ever since being turned, I've been like that. Knowing I wasn't 'allowed' out made it worse, though.”

Ford's face immediately cleared in understanding. “So it was a werewolf factor? Of course, it couldn't just be you feeling bored and contrary. You said before that this place makes you uncomfortable.” And then he drew back guiltily. “I haven't been taking all of your needs into consideration. I just don't know enough about werewolves.”

“Well, you have one right here. You can ask me things, you know.”

Ford frowned. “I can't gather enough useful data with just one subject. I need to know more about werewolf physiology. I've been thinking it before with researching the sigil's effects with you, but this settles it.” 

“Settles what?” Stan frowned.

“I need a bigger data pool. Stan, I need you to introduce me to other werewolves.”

“You need what?” Stan nearly choked. But he knew he hadn't misheard, and Ford was now looking stubborn and determined. This was bad.

“Other werewolves. I know you know how to find them, and we've established I know nothing about how to find them on my own. Stan, I've been putting it off in the hopes that I could learn on my own and with just you, but I can't. If I'm going to break the sigil, I'll need to see normal, unmarked werewolves. Multiple, preferably.”

This was very bad. Because Stan knew, with justification like that, of course he would go along. 

It was very bad, because Stan didn't know a single werewolf pack that wasn't out for his blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *says I'm not going to make a contained, plot driven story* 
> 
> *begins a contained, plot driven story arc*
> 
> there's something wrong with me. But it's okay because it means we get to go deeper into my werewolf stan headcanons.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Stan meet some werewolves

“If we're going to do this, we're going to have to do it right.” Stan announced to Ford the next day. “Which means, I'm going to need a gift.”

“A gift? You mean like some sort of offering? Is this a part of werewolf culture- oh, I should write this down.” Ford dug a hand into his trench coat pockets until he found a worn notepad. 

“I s'pose, if you wanna think like that. It's something we do- and they better not see that. They won't like you writing about them.” 

Ford nodded. “Of course. They'd have to be a secretive bunch to get by, wouldn't they? Now what sort of offering do you have to make?” 

Stan tried to ignore the suddenly earnest attention of his brother- he knew it was only because Stan had knowledge that Ford didn't right now. At least it was better than anger. “Me? Well, I gotta suck up real hard, so probably... a deer. Damn, this'll be hard without shifting.” 

Ford's eyes widened in astonishment. “You have to catch and kill a deer? And why do you have to 'suck up'?” 

Stan shifted, tapping the wooden floor with one claw. “None of your business.”

“Stanley, come on! Is it something you did? Some kind of social caste I'm not aware of? I need to keep my notes with the highest scientific integrity possible.”

That earned another frown and a dismissive flick of Stan's ears. “One of those. Both. Neither. That's not important anyways. What is important is how I'm going to knock out a deer on my own when we don't even know if I can shift safely.”

Ford glared in annoyance for several long seconds before abandoning that thread and responding. “Well, how much does this have to be done on your own? Surely they'd understand if you needed a handicap?”

At the mention of a handicap, Stan bristled. But Ford wasn't implying anything, he was just speaking his mind. He forced the immediate spark of anger down. “Understanding is one way to put it. It's really only important that I kill it with my own hands and present it. They'll be able to tell if I shot it or anything, even if it's just a tranq. And it won't be pretty if they find that.”

Ford started scribbling madly throughout Stan's explanation. “Right, so you have to kill it. An animalistic show of submission, perhaps? Showing your hunting prowess but surrendering the kill? Is this indicative of wolf interactions or purely a product of lycan culture?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Stan, you're a werewolf. How can you not know about your own culture?”

Stan's voice rumbled. “Because it's not my culture!” That had come out louder than he wanted. “Not really, anyways. I don't... spend much time with other werewolves.” 

Ford's glasses had slipped down as he stared at Stan's outburst. After a pause, he fixed them and coughed. “You're right, it's not important right now. Do you think it would matter if we tracked a deer down and caught it first, perhaps in a net or snare?”

Stan shook his head, and gathered his thoughts. He hadn't meant to snap like that and was just as glad for the change in topic. “A net, probably. That's less obvious.”

“Okay, right.” Ford scribbled out a few more things. “So we need to catch and kill a deer to offer. Are there any other rituals we must fulfill?”

Stan considered the question. “Nothing formal. But you will need a change of clothes.”

“What? Why?” Ford looked caught between offense and curiosity.

“For protection. You know, so they don't decide it would be more fun to just kill you.” 

That got Ford to shut up.

“Right, so you'll need as much silver as you can manage-”

“Silver, of-of course. Silver and wolfsbane?” Ford's fingers clenched tightly against the notepad and pencil. 

It almost earned a laugh from Stan, but instead he took pity. “Actually, no. The plant wolfsbane does nothing but smell bad. It's a mess up from history- the second thing we need is actually wolf's BONE.” 

Ford calmed down immediately at that, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wolf's... bone? You mean like actual bones from a wolf? What does that do?”

“Repels. Makes a barrier, whatever. Only works for a werewolf that kills a wolf, and they can use the bones to repel any weres that aren't them.” 

Ford paused again to write it all down. “Fascinating,” He muttered, completely dismissing his earlier nervousness. “Are there any allowances? Exceptions? Does it repel other magical creatures? And what happens if the lycan dies- do the bones retain these magical properties?”

Stan had to bite back a small smile even uncomfortable as he was. Seeing Ford like this, it was nice. “ It extends to the pack, if you have one. Couldn't say if it works on anything else, other things tend to keep away from werewolves in general. And I think, the barrier does wear off, but it takes a while.” 

“Interesting.” Ford tapped the pen against his chin. “This will be more difficult. Wolves are a protected species. Luckily, I believe there are some populations in Oregon, but we'll have to be careful-”

“Calm down, sixer. I got that part covered already.” Ford gave him an incredulous look. “What? I have to have some way to protect myself. There should be enough spare bones in the trunk, you don't need many.”

“Stan, why do you need to protect yourself against other werewolves?”

Stan scowled. “Just because we're the same species doesn't mean we all have to get along, you know. It's not like you expect to get along with every human.”

“True, but I also don't generally worry that any human might decide to kill me. Is there.. something else I'm missing? If they're predominantly human as you are, why would they be so aggressive?” 

“Yeah, you don't worry about being killed at all. That's why I'm like this in the first place.” 

Ford's pen dropped, and Stan froze at the sound. The immediate tension was enough to make Stan's hair stand on end. Inside, he felt something like guilt, especially after a quick glance at Ford's shuttered expression. 

Enough of that. “Look, it doesn't matter. Like you said, we have to go anyways. They might not go after you regardless, but this will make me feel better.”

Ford frowned for a long moment before shaking his head of whatever thoughts were going through him. “Right. Let's get to it, then.”

()()()

“Please tell me we're almost there.” Ford gripped the steering wheel tightly, a look of discomfort on his face. 

“Why don't you tell me? You're the one who insisted on driving.” 

“Because your feet aren't well suited for operating a car right now! And you're the one with directions.” 

Stan rolled his eyes again. It had been a long seven hour car trip. Especially given that Stan wasn't even allowed to drive his own vehicle now. “Directions shmirections. You just can't wait to be rid of old Bucky back there.”

“I am not! I am just highly uncomfortable with these bone pieces poking into my skin. And don't name it!” 

Stan grinned back at the deer carcass, covered in bags of ice from outside “Bucky doesn't mean no harm. Bucky's just doing his thing. Sitting there, being dead.”

Ford's nose scrunched up. “Do you not find anything wrong with the fact that you are naming and talking about a creature you killed just hours ago with your bare hands?” 

“I'm paying it respect. It's made a sacrifice for us not to get torn to pieces when we meet this pack. Don't be rude to Bucky just because you couldn't handle his death.”

“I could so handle his death! I've seen so much worse in the last six years than simply a deer being killed.”

Stan grinned. “So that's why you were almost sick.”

“I wasn't-!” Ford briefly turned his eyes from the road to glare at Stan. “Oh shut up!” He turned back to the road with a huff. 

“It's okay, sixer. We all have our limits. And no, I don't think we're too far off. I'll probably have to start tracking soon.” 

“Right. Just let me know when to stop. One would think these people would keep steady addresses or some kind of modern contact.” 

“They probably do keep phone numbers or something. I told you I'm not as involved as I coulda been.” Stan scratched behind his ear. “Plus, things just aren't the same, even if we are all mostly human. Has to do with the cooped up feeling I told you about.”

“The restlessness,” Ford acknowledged. “I suppose if you're always needing a place to run, migrating is an ideal. I'm just surprised they could be so fine with leaving all of the amenities of modern life behind.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that. And Ford? You can probably pull over soon. I think I see a good vantage point.” 

Ford squinted at the road ahead of them. “The rest stop?”

“Yeah, what else? It's the perfect place to scent mark. When everyone can drive or hitch rides, it isn't exactly helpful to just go pissing on random trees.”

Ford laughed. “Don't be gross, Stan. I'm pulling over now.” He pulled the turn signal and slowed, gracefully turning into the truck stop parking lot, which only contained a convenience store and a gas station. 

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Stan hopped out of the safety of his car. They were about 3 hours out of Oregon now, which meant They were probably getting close to the closest border packs. He hoped to god he could catch a whiff of the pack he wanted to deal with and not the other one he knew was in this area. But it had been a few years, and lots could happen. 

It took some time to get his nose to work, but he managed. His sense of smell was always better than a human even when he was in human form, but now it was well beyond even that. He tracked differing scents all the way to the actual scent marker behind the convenience store, blocked from the sight of the road. In this case, the scent marker was a simple post driven into the ground.

Carefully, Stan sorted through them. There were the greeting scents of weres passing through on visits, weaker and less distinct compared to the reinforced scents of the local packs. And was that-? Stan shuddered. The pack he wanted to avoid at all costs. Thankfully, they were weaker. This wasn't their territory, but they were in the area roughly. So at least nothing had changed. 

Which meant the next pack scent aggressively applied over the other in an attempt to smother it entirely was what he was looking for. Stan sighed in visible relief. He climbed to his feet gracelessly and bumped into his brother. 

“Woa- geez, d'you have to trail so close?” It was only his quick reaching out to Ford's sleeve that prevented a fall in the snow. Damn his fickle balance. 

“Ah, sorry. I just wanted to observe. You were taking in a scent marker, right?”

“What gave it away? Was it me sniffing the wooden stick in the ground?”

“Oh shut it,” Ford almost pouted at the use of sarcasm. “I was just making sure. What did you get from it, anyways?”

Stan grinned. It was good to know he could still cause this kind of light hearted annoyance. “We're on the right track. We just need to scent out the next couple stops to make sure we're headed in the right direction, and fix it if we're not.”

Ford nodded. “Sounds good. Now let's get back to the car before you freeze yourself.”

Stan glanced down at his feet. He could already feel a cold wetness poking through the makeshift monstrosity he had cobbled together. “That's probably a good thing.”

The process was tedious, definitely. Ford was about ready to snap at Stan when he realized the scent was fading thee pit stops later and that they needed to head back in another direction. Bucky continued to be dead, and Ford continued to complain about the wolfs bones. But then they did it.

It was at the last stop. Instead of just a mark showing territory, there was a fresh trail. This was a frequently visited place, most likely the closest source of modern food to the pack's current camp. Immediately, he got back into the car and rolled down the window. “What are you doing, it's freezing-” 

“Ford, I found it. But you need to drive slow so we can get to their camp. It's usually pretty hidden.”

“You what? Finally!” And then Ford paused. “But in that case, why are we staying in the car? Won't they be out living in the woods? I thought we'd have to trek it.”

“Heh,” Stan stuck his head out of the window as Ford obligingly started the car anyways. “Aren't you the one who wanted werewolves to get with modern times? They own cars too, you know.” 

“Oh. That... makes sense.”

“No kidding,” Stan kept his head out while the car kept rolling. “Okay, turn here.”

“Turn where? There's just trees on both sides.”

“There- the gap between those two trees. It's a trail path, unpaved- the snows thinner there from being packed down. But it should be fine, the stanleymobile has handled worse.” Ford gave it a skeptic glance but trustingly followed through. The car lurched as it tipped off the road, straightening up as it somehow found solid ground. 

“I'm surprised we're not stuck already with how thick the snow is.” 

“Hey, my car is more reliable than that. Cut her some slack and keep moving.” And so Ford did, cautiously driving through the unmarked trail. It didn't take long until they found the obvious end. They arrived at a larger clearing where somewhere over a dozen trucks and Rvs were parked in a rough circle. “Okay, stop now. We'll walk the rest of the way.”

Ford didn't question it, immediately pulling over and turning the car off. Neither of them got as far as opening the door before several people started bounding up to them. “Or not. Open the window, don't get out until you're invited. And you better still have those bones on you.” Stan whispered under his breath, hoping that he was just quiet enough, given that the doors and windows were still shit. 

Ford nodded slightly, giving Stan a solid look- one Stan couldn't quite read- before rolling the window down. The man who leaned down from the other side looked the part, all height and muscles and beard. “What have we here, a visitor?” He leaned down further, inhaling sharply. “You're a human, eh? But not your friend there.” 

“I apologize for the interruption. You see, we need some help, and it involves my brother here...” Ford trailed off as the man reached into the car- only for his hand to stop sharply. 

“Ugh, wolfs bone. You paranoid enough there, buddy? These are your buddies bones, yeah?” 

“Umm, yes.” Stanford confirmed, glancing at Stan wildly. Stan supposed it wasn't fair to let Stanford speak for them now. Not when he had no idea what he was doing. He squared his shoulders. “Yeah, they're mine. S'nothing personal. Can we talk?” 

“Hmm,” The man turned away form the car to mutter to his friends, softly enough that even Stan couldn't catch it. Another of them turned to the car next- a short, squat woman almost drowning in scarf. She strolled to Stan's side of the car, raising her eyebrows until Stan obligingly rolled his window down. 

She leaned forward eagerly. And then her nose scrunched, and she rubbed her scarf against it. “Oh, ew. I know that stench anywhere. What pack do you belong to, boy?”

Stan felt ice flood his veins. Oh please let them not be going into this now. “I... don't. Have a pack, that is.”

The reaction was immediate. The woman grimaced, her eyebrows drawing together. “How? You've been a were for, what..” She peeked her nose out for another sniff. “Couple years, at least. Ugh, you even smell half omega, and not just-” 

“That's the thing!” Stan interrupted her before she could go any further. The woman glared at the intrusion, but Stan pressed on. “My human brother here deals with weird stuff. You know, Oregon weird. When I visited, there was an accident.”

He had their attention now, so Stan drew his hood off. His animal-like ear popped out immediately, and far too conspicuously. “Wha- you ARE half omega!” She scrambled back. “How long till you lose your mind?! And human, are you out of yours?” 

Stan bit his lip harshly to calm down. But even so, an offended growl escaped. “Do I look like I've lost my mind?” He gripped the handle of the car door, claws scratching into the hard plastic. The reaction from the pack was instant, all defensive stances and bared teeth.

Ford's hand suddenly gripped Stan's good shoulder. “Stan, calm down. You said not to open the door until we were invited. Stan anchored himself to Ford's calming voice, taking a deep breath. He hated this. 

“Oh. So the human's substituting.” The scarf woman concluded. There were some scattered nods from the pack. “Do you even know what you're doing? You do know that Were is probably days from going feral?”

Stan controlled himself this time. He knew he would have to deal with this, even with a pack that didn't know him. Especially because the pack didn't know him. Which of course was a good thing, because if they knew exactly who Stan was, things would not be pretty. He exchanged his grip from the car to the hem of his own jacket while Ford answered them. “Ah, thank you for your concern. However, my brother has shown to be of excellent mind as far as I'm aware. His current state is due to a protective sigil... there was an accident, and it's caused this.” Ford cleared his throat, clearly trying to find his next words. “ I would like to fix him, but for that I need to learn more about werewolves. I had no idea there were others besides the omegas you speak of before all this.” 

The previous man stepped forward warily, half in front of the woman. “How do we know he isn't just ticking down? Carol, he IS a...” 

The woman nodded. “Definitely. And pack-less, of all things? And part shifted? It's probably just a matter of waiting for the moon.”

“Wait, wait, if we're waiting for the moon, it's still over a week until it's full! Can you give us a chance? Once I have my basic information, we can leave well before then.” Ford was actually convincing. Stan had to give him that.

The werewolves started muttering. “You want us to give up an untold amount of information for the sake of a doomed omega? Who doesn't even have a pack? And when you could give that information to anyone?”

Stan forced a grin, pointedly ignoring Ford's obvious worry warring with curiosity. Ford had obviously caught on to the fact that this was more than just a distrust of strangers, and more than them overreacting to the sigil incident. If Stan could do anything in the next little while it would be preventing Ford from learning anything more than he needed to fix this. “I brought a deer? A stag, even.” 

That got them to still. Finally, a third spoke up, a taller, more dainty woman in high-waist jeans. “Well, it would be a waste to turn that down. I say we take it. Clearly he can observe some protocol, and the human seems to have a handle on him.” 

They started muttering again. “Alright, you might as well come out.” The first man gestured openly with one arm. “Bring the stag and we'll talk business. Try anything funny and you're dead, wolfs bone or not.” 

Ford glanced at Stan for confirmation. He nodded, and as one, they both opened their doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I just really liked the idea of werewolves migrating like that, and just finding new places to park their trucks/mobile homes and such. *convoy starts playing in the distance*
> 
> -also yes, the werewolves are clearly discriminating. I'm trying to be respectful about showing that, but be mindful that I haven't faced much discrimination in my real life. That will be put to the test next chapter, given that they'll all be spending more time interacting.
> 
> -hey, next chapter is also "finding out why/how stan specifically ended up on the werewolf shit list" chapter, if it wasn't clear, these guys aren't reacting to that matter cause they don't know stan, and that's why stan went to approach them rather than a pack he was more familiar with. 
> 
> -wolfs bone. It was a dumb thought but I really wanted something that felt silly enough to be in the same vein as gravity falls canon. Having "wolfs bone" be misheard throughout history as "wolfsbane"- ie the stereotypical expected solution being way off due to circumstance- seems like the kind of thing that could happen in show, although of course they could execute it much better. Also, I like the idea and it gives a little more flesh to my personal werewolf canon


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford spend some time with a werewolf pack. It's less fun for Stan than one might think
> 
> warning for long chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably at least twice as long as all the others, so please enjoy it and drop me any thoughts you have about it. There's bound to be mistakes, but this was at least 12 pages and I'm an incredibly lazy person who doesn't have a proofreader.

Maybe Stan shouldn't have worried. Of all the things that could have happened, Stan hadn't considered that the pack would take a liking to Ford. But that's exactly what happened, the second he opened his mouth and started spewing science. Most of which had to do with the current investigation at hand. Seeing as Ford had blocked Stan at almost every turn when it came to helping, the conversation quickly went over his head.

Stan elected to believe it was because of that. He could totally have kept up if he had just a little background. Stan wasn't stupid. 

“You know, we have always been curious about weird country. Why it does what it does. So you say you know a bit about that, and not just this 'sigil' as you call it?” Jeans-lady smiled at Ford even as she was pulling the deer carcass single handed with typical werewolf strength. 

“Of course!” Ford beamed. “It's been my life's work to discover the grand unified theory of weirdness- why everything paranormal is so concentrated in a small area of Oregon.” And then, Ford's expression deflated, eyes looking haunted for a moment. Haunted as they'd looked when Stan first arrived in Gravity Falls. “I've- I've yet to complete the discovery. There've been... setbacks. But I do know a lot about the symptoms if not so much the cause.” 

Jean-woman made a casual sound of sympathy. “Them's the rocks. Still, you probably know more than us. Pretty impressive for a human, but then again you can actually go and live there.”

“What do you mean?” Ford's eyebrows drew down in concentration. “Stan, don't you use the same term? Weird country? Is your discomfort with the place universal among the supernatural? But that doesn't make sense- if it were, all creatures would avoid the place, not flock there...” 

Stan was about to answer, but the woman beat him. “It's a common term, and a common feeling. At least among turned folk.” She dragged the stag onto a picnic table set out by one of the RVs Almost immediately, a gangly young adult werewolf started slicing into it neatly with a knife. “You see, every one of us has a drive, somethin' telling us we wanna go there, and that's the wolf talking. But it's not natural. We can also feel just how weird weird country is. We got a natural good sense of danger, and we figure that's the human talking. So there's a natural inclination to worry about the place. And feeling both of those at once is, well, not comfortable.” 

Stan could have sworn at that moment that Ford had stars in his eyes. “You feel a draw there? An actual, physical draw? Fascinating! I always assumed there must be something that drew the supernatural to gravity falls, but there's no way to prove it! And that warring with a sense of danger.. I suppose that's why I've never heard of humans who have become something supernatural but still intelligent. Supernatural creatures that are born such and also intelligent would never give me a straight answer for why they settled in the area. Could it be that the draw is so natural to them that they do not notice?”

Ford had them hooked. Stan felt a stirring of pride, even. Out of the two of them, Stan had always been the most socially capable. But in this case it worked out because apparently these Weres were nerds too. Or perhaps it was just that they were a border pack- one of the closest to Weird country. It was natural that they'd be curious. 

“Alright, I think we have a deal.” Jeans-lady announced. “We tell you what you need to know, and you tell us more about your studies. It'll be like story swapping.”

Both Ford and Stan were surprised at that. “That's it?” Ford made a sound of disbelief. Stan nearly kicked him. And he'd been doing so well! “I mean, of course. I'm just surprised, is all.” Well, the pack didn't look too annoyed, so at least Ford had saved it.

“Well, I'll be honest with you, since you don't know anything. It's more the principle of the matter than anything else. Most anyone that's out to kill us knows enough about werewolves anyways. The only thing you could really spill is our location, which is why we're shipping out soon anyways. Can't be too careful nowadays. But you seem like a good sort for a human.” 

“Oh,” Ford looked down with a slight grin. “Well, thanks. Your information will be very helpful.” His eyes met Stan's, and as a consequence everyone was suddenly looking at him.

“Yeesh, that is quite the predicament.” The tall bearded man from earlier chuckled. Stan glowered, unable to help himself. But he did manage to bite his tongue. Not speaking his mind had never been Stan's strong suit, but now was definitely not the time. “I s'pose it's another reason to help. Even someone like him doesn't deserve looking like that.” Stan's glower increased, and he looked away before he could be seen as too aggressive. They'd just love that. 

“Hmm,” Someone from the pack, a middle age man who hadn't yet spoken a word, cleared his throat. “Why don't he hang out with Taylor? They'll get along, and whoever's knowledgeable enough can settle the human down and figure out what we each wanna know?”

The pack agreed almost simultaneously. It sent an uncomfortable chill down Stan's back. He looked to Ford, who also seemed uncertain. “I'd rather not separate.” Stan ventured. It was hard be as assertive as he usually was with an entire Were pack staring him down. 

“Oh please boy, he's perfectly safe with us.” The older man scoffed. More safe with us than with you, his eyes said. Stan clenched his hands, wincing at the sudden sting from his sharp claws. Immediately he could see each Were inhale sharply at the smell of blood. That hadn't been missed. Stan hated this, the need to censor himself, the damn preconceptions everyone seemed to have. As if Stan was so ready to be unhinged, just because...

But there was nothing for it. They needed to stay on the packs good side for at least a couple days. Ford's eyes roved back and forth. He was far from stupid, and just because he usually didn't understand social norms didn't mean he couldn't observe the obvious tension. But there was also concern and confusion in his eyes, which made Stan feel just a bit better. At least he was uncomfortable with being separated as well, although for all Stan knew it could be personal fear rather than worry for Stan. 

“Alright, fine. Which one of you is Taylor?” Stan backed down, as much as he didn't want to. They'd gotten lucky as it was, Stan couldn't ruin this. His life literally depended on it. Stan scented the air, suspecting exactly what this Taylor would be. Sure enough, the gangly young man made a tiny wave, blood still on his fingers from the stag. Stan knew that particular piece of scent. It was one that wafted out of Stan as well. Obligingly, grudgingly, Stan shuffled to the pimpled man, practically a teenager. 

“Hi, I'm Taylor.” The man grinned lopsidedly, as if it wasn't beyond obvious. Stan wanted to roll his eyes. He also searched his mind for a name to give, and that's when it hit him. Ford had already named him Stan. He'd forgotten entirely to tell him to use a fake. Damn. There was no helping it. “Stan.” He replied numbly. And now there was no chance to warn Ford. Even if he gave a fake surname, Ford's confusion would give them away. Stan could only pray that Ford had enough of his paranoia about him to not give away his home's location. You never knew what even enemy packs would tell each other, and Stan would just as soon as not take the risk of THEM knowing where he was living.

Ford gave one last look of uncertainty, and Stan was forced to wave him off. Finally, he nodded and was swept off into a nearby RV, along with the jeans-lady, and the older man. The remaining dozen or so of the pack dispersed. But Stan caught quite a few looks subtly edging his way. No, they weren't kidding about keeping an eye out.

Taylor, for his part, looked skittish enough. He made movements to wipe his hands off but clearly had nowhere to wipe them and wasn't about to use his own clothes. Not to mention he couldn't decide if he wanted to stare at his own feet, Stan, or the deer. Stan sighed, it was far too much to hope for a little solidarity around here, wasn't it? It was horribly awkward watching the other tangle himself into a bundle of nerves, but Stan wasn't going to be the one to break the ice.

“So..” Taylor picked up his courage finally. “How's... life?”

Stan bit back a more sarcastic retort. “Fine, 'sides the obvious.”

“Oh, right, yeah, cause of-” Taylor cut himself off in order to gesture at Stan, looking pointedly at his different features. “Is- is it, um, weird? Walking like that?”

“You get used to it.” Stan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

Taylor scratched his chin. “Umm, d-d'you want to help me skin this?” He lifted up the knife. 

Stan wrinkled his nose. “Not really, no. Blood ain't my thing.” 

Taylor raised his eyebrows. “Really? But aren't you a.. er, like I am?” 

Ugh. This again, Stan realized. “Not all of us have to be into all of that. You don't seem to like it much yerself.” And it was true, there was a certain awkwardness even beyond the obvious, in how the guy looked at the deer. But of course he was surrounded by his pack who would no doubt reinforce the whole thing until he started believing it. Werewolf packs were something else, after all- closer than the closest family. The immediate defensive frown on Taylor's face only reinforced the fact that it could be a good and a bad thing. 

“I-you can't say what I like. We just met!” His light distress brought a few stares their way, and Stan only just avoided rolling his eyes. 

“Alright, fine. Whatever. You like it.” Stan slouched down into the bench of the table. He couldn't wait until Ford was done. 

Thankfully, it was already evening, which meant that Ford did come out within a few hours. Stan had passed the time responding as little as possible while Taylor methodically prepared the deer. Ford had made a good enough impression that they were even willing to share some of the gift as a meal- which was very good seeing as they hadn't brought much.

“Er, I never thought of this, but where are we going to sleep?” Ford asked as they walked back the short distance to the Stanley-mobile 

“The car, duh.” Stan gave Ford an incredulous look. One that grew as Ford showed confusion. “What were you expecting?” 

Ford frowned. “I suppose it makes sense. I've just never spent a night in a car before. And it's very cold- how are we going to avoid freezing to death?” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “It's not that bad.” He checked that the back seat was clean as it was going to be after holding a dead deer for hours before climbing into the front. “Here, you can have the back- should be easier to sleep when you can lie down mostly.” 

Ford made a face, likely thinking of the deer. But then he looked at the clearing, then back at the car. He sighed and eventually got in. “Are there at least any blankets?”

“Oh yeah, under the seats. And speaking of, pass one up while you're there.” Ford obediently rooted behind the front seats and pulled up several scratchy, well used blankets. Stan took pity on his brother's obvious discomfort with the situation and grabbed the one that he knew was worse. 

Still, Ford did a good job of not complaining even though it was beyond obvious that he didn't like this one bit. No doubt he was thinking of his cushy bed and warm house that was actually his. But Ford didn't say a word, although perhaps there was a hint of sadness in his expression. 

As much as Stan had dreamed of making Ford feel sorry for letting Stan get kicked out- reduced to this- the actual experience left something to be desired. He thought it would feel vindictive, but instead it was just very uncomfortable. 

As was the case with most uncomfortable things, he could ignore it by thinking of something else. And it was something he needed to bring up anyways. “What did you talk about back there?” 

Ford paused in the action of carefully folding his glasses up. “Oh, we just negotiated. I explained what I needed to learn, and the non intrusive experiments I need. Then we went over what they wanted to learn in return. I think it went very well in our favour. I got all of my demands, at the very least. And the research they wanted are all things I intended to publish one day.”

That was something. At least Stan's having to deal with that Taylor all evening had not gone to waste. But there was still something. “Did you give them your full name or address?” Stan tried to sound as casual as possible, but couldn't help holding his breath.

“I.. yes. Is that bad? They wanted to know where in Oregon I was from, because there are different pockets of supernatural subgroups based on location. I had to assure them that Gravity falls belongs to the greatest concentration and diversity of anomalies.”

Stan gulped silently. Shit. There was no sense in worrying Ford. There was no sense in panicking himself. As long as they stayed on as good terms as they were now, the pack would not have any reason to share this information. They would become anonymous travelers as the pack eventually forgot them entirely. “Don't worry 'bout it. I just make a habit of not doing it.” 

“Oh, alright then.” Ford hesitated before speaking again. “Good night, Stanley.” He pulled the blanket entirely over his head, no doubt to conserve warmth. 

Stan settled as well, cranking the front seat as far back as it would go. “Night, Ford.” He tried to relax despite the fact that the sounds of another person being so close made it nearly impossible to do so. But knowing who it was doing the breathing behind him helped a little. Stan hoped that meant he'd be able to catch at least a few hours of sleep.

After all, they had plenty of work ahead of them.

\--

The next day, Stan barely put up more than a token protest when he was foisted off on Taylor again. This time, the younger man seemed a bit more confident, and a bit more aloof. He was doing various chores, and Stan was more or less forced to follow him around. 

What? Stan had never been in the habit of doing free work. And he would stay away from it so long as their stay didn't depend on it. 

“So.. do you live in Oregon with your brother?” Taylor ventured, hanging the last of the laundry load up to dry over a string raised between two trees. 

Here came the pointless questions again. “No, I only came to visit.” 

“Oh.” Taylor paused. “Where do you live, then?”

Stan heaved a loud sigh. He knew where this was about to go. At the same time, there was no real reason to lie. “I live in my car.” He could have said New Mexico, in fact Stan probably should have. But he was already sick of this.

“Oh.” Taylor made that noise again, only this time it was filled with so much more. How could a simple syllable, not even a real word, contain so much emotion? He had plenty of surprise, dismissal, and even disgust. Stan hated this. Taylor was silent for a long moment as his nose wrinkled ever so slightly. “I guess you were, when..?”

“not far from Oregon at the time, no. But that's to be expected.” As if Stan was going to give the real location of where he was bitten. It didn't happen often, and even less did it happen the way of Stan or Taylor, or others like them. “S'pose it's the same for you.”

Taylor balked at that. Of course, he would take offense to that. “No. I lived further into weird country, before. Went drinking out with my buddies, and they got scared and ran off. I did too, but I got caught. Didn't think to treat it after, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” Stan agreed in monotone. He could see the slight upturn in the boy's nose. The body language that screamed 'I may be one of you, but I'm not like you.'

“I was lucky my pack found me. I couldn't imagine what it's like to live without one.” 

Stan's chest flared in annoyance, and he was sure he couldn't keep the emotion fully out of his expressive new body. “It's not much worse than before the bite.” And because he couldn't help himself, he added, “I couldn't imagine what it's like to live with a pack.” 

“How can you say that!?” Taylor physically reared back a step. “Pack is everything! Being a lone werewolf was so painful. I can't believe you'd think that fine.” He calmed down somewhat, smoothing his shirt. “But I guess you're just one of those who are too wild for a pack.” 

Stan clenched his fist so tightly that it hurt. But he remembered from before that it wouldn't be good to break skin. So he clenched his teeth instead. Taylor could definitely see the anger, but was reacting to it with fear as much as challenge. 

Stan hated this so very very much. He wanted to shift and run into the woods far away from these idiots. Instead, he took a deep breath and forcefully relaxed. “I guess so.”

\--

Ford was ecstatic that night in the car. “There is so much more to werewolves than I ever could have thought!” He started yammering on about tiny physiological details that Stan admittedly knew nothing about. 

And then Ford sobered. “They also explained to me something that doesn't make much sense. They were talking about the bond that makes a Werewolf pack.”

Stan froze before carefully choosing his response. “What doesn't make sense about it?”

“Well,” Ford started. “They said that Werewolves that want to be pack will bite each other on full moons while spreading the werewolf virus. And that's also very interesting- that you can shift on days surrounding the full moon, but only are contagious during the actual full moon while under moonlight. It explains why.. sorry, that's off topic.”

Stan nodded. Leave it to Ford. “So..?”

“Right, right. So pack bonds are created and sustained by sharing the virus among the already infected. And a human who has been bitten will become both a werewolf and part of that pack, right? Well it's just, the way they describe pack makes it seem so necessary. Like a Were without a pack will just lose their mind.” 

Ford gave Stan a curious and pointed look. His unspoken question could not be clearer. “Did they get to the mental part of the bond yet?” Stan resented his brother just a bit in that moment for forcing him to explain this. To explain why he was apparently a failure in yet another aspect of his life.

“They weren't clear on that either. It sounded like something of a hive mind, but everyone seems to have their own individuality as well?”

“Yeah, that's accurate.” Stan agreed. “From what I've understood, pack mates can feel each other and tell emotions apart. They can't really communicate, but it does help them reach decisions sooner. Like voting, if enough of them feel something, everyone starts feeling it.” Stan withheld any kind of tone. The pack bond was supposed to be this sacred, amazing thing. That didn't make its entire concept less creepy. 

“I see.” Ford frowned to himself. “Why do they think it hurts so much to be without it? I was told that no Werewolf lasts long on their own because the pain is so great. They said the only people able to manage it are..” Ford paused. “People who already hurt so much that they're used to it.”

“Now they're just being melodramatic.” Stan was quick to respond. Ford seemed unconvinced. “Look, I'm serious. Weres like them, they spend their whole time part of a pack. If they leave it, it's like losing part of their mind. But for me, well, I'm not saying I don't feel a loss. But it's not like it's much worse than wanting my family back-” Stan cut off. He hadn't meant to say that. “Shit, I mean, not much worse than wanting somewhere to live, basic necessities, stuff like that. You know, like when you haven't eaten all day you really want food, but it's not like you're dying, you know?” 

Ford didn't buy it. He was staring at Stan with a mixture of pain and sadness. All of that wrapped up in guilt. Stan pretended that his keen ears didn't pick up the slight hitching in Ford's breath. When something was hidden that well, it deserved to not be acknowledged. 

Finally, after a long moment, Ford silently turned around and pulled his blanket up. Stan did the same.

\--

The next day, Ford assured Stan that this would be the last day spent here. He'd already cut his information gathering to the essentials during the negotiation, and was a little over halfway finished. After all, the trip was more than seven hours to begin with, and the full moon was fast approaching. By now the pack seemed remarkably less worried about Stan, even if they did keep with the side glances. 

Taylor was still as absolutely typical as ever. Except now he was in a lecturing mood. “You know, I do get it. It does sometimes suck, when you're given a bad turn. But it's what you do with your bad turn that matters.” 

Stan groaned, earning a sharp look from Taylor. “No, I'm serious. I mean, look at the difference between us. We were both in the same position once, and there's a reason that's not the case now. You just need to be more pro active.” 

And didn't that make Stan's hackles rise? No, they were not in the same position. Getting drunk with a bunch of your teenage friends and being too absent minded to properly care for a wolf bite was nowhere near what Stan had been through. Did this overgrown brat ever consider what it's like to know you need to take care of something and just be so unable to? Did he ever have to experience a painful infection setting in because he couldn't afford the most basic care? The fear combining with the fever telling him that he was going to die alone in his car in the wilderness where nobody would care to find him? 

“You just can't spend all your energy thinking about how unfair the world is. When I found this pack, I worked for it until they could see there was nothing wrong with me. And then they let me in. I'm sure it will be the same for you, if you actually try.”

The only thing Stan wanted to try was scratching the obnoxious man's eyes out. Stan almost couldn't believe Taylor was the same type as him and yet still spouted this. Try hard and you will succeed? He shouldn't have to be more and work harder than anybody else just for the worst position in the pack. He already had to deal with being homeless at 17, and Stan had seen and done too much shit to just roll over and take it. Simply being closer to one's instincts did not make you less of a person. But Taylor didn't complain- he did more menial labour than anyone, but was constantly viewed as childlike, as if the pack were caring for him rather than a mutual sharing of work and help.

This was exactly why Stan didn't want a pack in the first place. They all carried these stupid bullshit misconceptions and ideas about what Stan should be and why he was less than them. Why not having a choice somehow made things his fault. If Stan joined a pack, he would be just like all the others like him- he would start to believe these things too. It was true that a Werewolf without a pack suffered. Stan felt a conscious ache in his heart at every moment. But he hung onto it, because it was better than the alternative. And meanwhile Taylor- who knew nothing about anything- was talking like some kind of grand authority. 

Thankfully, with enough silence on Stan's part, the lecture petered off. Taylor kept his look of accomplishment for hours, as if he had given some revolutionary sage advice that Stan just needed to hear in order to turn his life around for the better. Stan scoffed at the thought. Only a little longer, and they would be out of here. 

Ford came out later, for a late lunch and a break. “I think I should be almost done. Just a few more hours to finalize and make sure I have everything we need. Wouldn't want to forget something essential and have the trip wasted.” He explained, accepting the sandwich Stan saved him while also allowing Stan to herd him to the car. 

It was probably unnecessary, and maybe a little suspicious to the werewolves. But Stan had had enough of them, and this was the only way he could justify getting away. He needed a breather, and plus it seemed Ford was fine with one too.

“That's good.” Stan could do it. A few more hours with Taylor the idiot babysitter and he was home free. They hadn't even figured out who Stan was. He was extra glad that he'd never told that other pack his real name, not even when he thought they might really be his pack one day. 

“Say, one thing I learned about today was different, and I was hoping you could shed some light on it.” Ford sounded genuinely confused, but also like he was treading on something very delicate.

“Yeah?” Stan did not have a good feeling about this, but he owed to to Ford to at least listen.

“It was about there being different types of werewolves. Of course, I know all about omegas versus beta and alpha- with betas being any werewolf with their minds intact, and alphas being betas who have turned humans. But what I don't fully understand is the difference between normal werewolves and omega-spawn.” 

Stan choked, his entire body tensing, a sickness suddenly churning in his gut. Ford leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “Stan, are you oka-”

“Don't.” Stan spit out. “Don't call me that again.” 

Ford sat back sharply. “You mean omega-sp-” Stan visibly flinched. Oh God, he hated this. He hated any word being able to have such a visceral reaction from him, but he hated just hearing the word more. “S-sorry, Stanley. I- I wasn't aware it was a negative term, they didn't phrase it as such. I thought it was just the proper classification.”

Of course they didn't phrase it as a bad word. Stan took a deep breath. Of course Ford didn't mean any harm by it. But that mouthful of garbage still managed to ooze its way past his lips, and still managed to sink right under Stan's skin. 

“Anyways,” Ford cleared his throat. “The differences between someone who is infected by an alpha werewolf and someone who is infected by an omega werewolf. The gist of what I understand is that the virus is twisted somehow by omegas, made stronger. And when one is infected by it, they are drawn closer to the beastly side of werewolf nature.” Ford nervously adjusted his glasses. “They also said that you were one, that it's easy to tell from scent. I was wondering if you could confirm any differences between yourself and normal betas.” 

Ford's words were concluded with a tight ripping noise. Stan realized that it came from him- he'd been gripping against the hem of his jacket so tightly that it had given under the pressure of his claws. “Sorry, they warned me that you might not be comfortable talking about it, but I have to know if my data is going to be skewed because you're an entirely different subspecies or some-”

“I'm not.” Stan pushed out. “It's not- they're not-” He lost his words.

“Stan? Do you mean they're wrong entirely? Is there no difference at all? That doesn't make sense- clearly the virus deteriorates some amount in omegas given that it fails to establish any pack bond at all. Not even a singular one between the omega and the new beta, although I suppose it could be entirely mental in nature rather than physiological- maybe the omega mind simply rejects the pack bond., which might also explain how their old pack bond is broken so quickly.” Ford stopped himself with a slight flush. “Sorry, just speculating.”

“I guess they're not, well, not all the way wrong.” Stan bit the tip of his thumb trying to calm down, only to wince at the sharpness of his teeth. “If you got that much, you probably got the full lecture. People bitten by omegas are lazy immoral homeless drifters who only got to be werewolves because omegas have no mind to judge. We get the bite because we were basically animals already and omegas like that, but we also get the bite because we just want to one up all those carefully chosen werewolves- the werewolves we don't know about until after we're bitten.”

Ford sat back until his head hit the car window. “So you're saying..?”

“I'm saying it's bullshit! It's all bullshit. Sure, I'll hear more and smell better, and sure, I see myself through more weird instincts than the rest of them. But anything that's actually different, they're going to paint twice as different and three times worse.” 

“I... don't know what to say.” What a laugh. Ford always had something to say. “They were such nice people, I'm sure they wouldn't intentionally be like that. I mean, they would obviously know that anyone could be bitten by an omega.” 

Stan snorted, but Ford continued. “And, I mean, if they really felt that way about omeg- about those like you, why would they have one in their pack? They said you've been spending time with theirs, that it would be good for you to get some perspective from another.” 

“Ford, just shut up. Now.” Stan growled. “You don't know anything. Yeah, I've been spending time with their omega-spawn. Because theirs is well trained and believes all that shit they spit out about us. But I'm every stereotype there is. I'm a homeless petty criminal who never finished high school. They want me to spend time with their omega-spawn because they think it'll be a good influence on me.” 

“I... I thought that was a bad word, why are you using it?”

“Because I am one! That doesn't mean I want to hear everyone else throwing it around. Or you, when you don't even know how shitty it is.”

Stan heard Ford swallow nothing. The rest of his sandwich was left on the dash, forgotten. Silence filled the car for an agonizingly long moment. And then Ford opened his mouth again. “I'm sorry. I keep having to apologize for putting my foot in my mouth lately.” A small smile slipped out at that. Stan reciprocated, finding that particular truth amusing despite everything. “I only meant to learn, but I suppose I learned instead that I should take note of potential bias in my findings.”

Stan nodded. “Yeah, that might.. that might be good to do.” 

“Right, okay. They're probably expecting me back now.” Ford fidgeted, reaching for the door handle and then stopping. “Will you be okay?”

Stan hadn't expected that. “I.. yeah, I'll be fine. It's only a little longer anyways.” 

Ford smiled slightly, his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “Of course. I'll work as efficiently as possible, and we can start driving back tonight if you want, even if it will be a long night.”

“I'll hold you to it.”

\--

Those last few hours were the easiest. Taylor ranted more, “Having a pack really helps tone down the wolf side, you know?”, and Stan continued to ignore him (as if there was some distinct wolf versus human split, as if it wasn't all blended together in a mix of instincts and desires that clashed as often as they reinforced each other). Stan was almost surprised at how soon it was when Ford emerged again, hair even more ruffled but with a satisfied look on his face.

It was unbelievable. They'd managed to get everything they want, stay on good terms, and best of all, make it all this way without anyone finding out what Stan was to other werewolves. Of course, that was the moment that everything came crashing down.

“Hey, before you get ready to leave, we got a proposition.” Carol, the woman with the scarf, stopped in front of them. Stan was itching to push around her and just get out with Ford in tow. But they were casually surrounded- the pack wasn't closing in, but they did know what their pack-mate was on about, and wanted them to stay and listen.

“So, Ford. You've been really solid for a human. We hope your research goes well.” Ford nodded with a smile. “And Stan. We've heard decent things about you from Taylor. Says you're pretty alright, all things considered.”

Did he? Stan avoided a disbelieving scowl. Still, he glanced at Taylor, who merely shrugged with a tiny, sneaky looking grin on his face. What did he..? “In fact, you've been so alright that we decided on something we'd never usually do. You see, this is a small pack. There are never enough pairs of hands around to do everything that needs doing.”

Ice flooded straight down Stan's spine. Oh no. Oh god no, not again. He couldn't go through this shit again. His head whipped to Ford, whose mouth was gaping slightly. He knew just as well as Stan where this was going. And he had a shiny new ability to understand exactly what the implications would be. 

“Basically, we're willing to extend an offer. Stay with us until the full moon. If you don't turn full omega, we will share pack bites. And who knows, maybe the bond will force all that weirdness from your accident out.” She grinned, all teeth and self pride. The entire pack seemed to puff up. There was no doubt in any of their minds that they were doing an incredibly benevolent thing.

And why wouldn't they think so? After all, who wants omega-spawn? Being invited into a pack was the highest honour for any lone wolf. And therein lay the problem. Because that meant the highest dishonour could only be turning down such an offer. 

Stan steeled himself. There was no real way out of this. He shot another look at Taylor, at the satisfied expression that meant he thought he was doing something worthwhile. And that gave him all the courage he needed. “Sorry,” Stan answered. “I'm not looking for a pack right now.” There, at least he'd managed it more neatly than the last time he'd had to turn down such an offer. 

“You... you what!?” The reaction was instantaneous. “You're not looking for a pack now!?”

Another Werewolf stepped forward, snarling. “You- you thankless omega-spawn! How dare you- you think you're better than us? Rather feel pain every day than to grace us with your presence?”

Stan squared his shoulders through it, looking for an escape route if it came to that. Already, two werewolves had gotten so beside themselves that they shifted to their wolf forms. Almost twice as large as a normal wolf, their growls were easily twice as intimidating. Ford stiffened beside Stan. “Look, please calm down! I know Stan didn't mean it that way, he just means that he doesn't feel well suited to that lifesty-”

“Shut it, human. You don't know anything, not really.” Carol hissed, her voice strengthened with anger and the rasp of her wolf form just below the surface. “Now Stan. You think again, and think again clearly. We here are offering everything you're missing, everything you need- even if you're too stupid to realize it. You only get one more shot. Will you take the bond and become our pack-mate?”

Stan took a deep breath, and looked her in the eyes. “I will not. No offense, but as my brother said, I'm not suited to pack life.”

“Not suited-”

“Who does he think-”

“But he's a-” 

The muttering grew to a storm. Carol, having done the most talking, finally had enough and turned wolf. Her scarf, worn too loosely to disappear to wherever clothes went during shifts, draped across her broad neck. Ford gripped Stan's jacket sleeve tightly, warningly. He was about ready to bolt for it. Stan was, too. But if they moved now, it might not go down so well, and he didn't want to test the wolfs bone protection if he didn't have to. 

“I've-We've- never, in our entire history been so insulted.” It was jeans lady- a stark contrast to her entirely friendly persona shown over the past few days. “Get out, and if we ever see you again, you'd better hope it's from a distance, becau-”

Carol barked. Not merely a bark, but a loud and angry sound. Her teeth snapped, and she shivered, clearly reigning herself in order to shift back. Finally, she managed, trembling and hands scrabbling at her scarf for something to hold onto. She had recognition in her eyes. A horrible recognition that sent Stan's heart racing in sudden terror. 

“He's- I smelled the Westridge pack on him! He's done this before!”

The entire clearing went silent. Stan secured his grip on Ford's wrist even as Ford silently moved his own from Stan's sleeve to his actual arm. They needed to be ready to run for it, something Stan knew now with a certainty was going to happen. 

“What, do you mean he's-”

“Yes! He's not just any omega-spawn, but the one that turned them down, the pack whose rogue omega bit him! It wasn't that many years ago, I should have expected...”

“Now come on, come on,” Stan tried to reason even though he knew he was toast now. “You guys hate the Westridge. You always fight over territory, it's always bloody.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. “You're right, we do hate the Westridge pack. And if it were just a matter of you sheer gall, turning away your sire pack, well, that's one of the filthiest things you could do, but it would be one thing. But no, you did one more didn't you? You think they wouldn't share with us what you did? That we wouldn't care just because we don't get along?”

Now they were closing in, half wolves and half humans. They needed the element of surprise, and that meant not staying while the monologue finished. Stan yanked harshly on Ford's arms and screamed as loudly as he could, barreling towards a gap in the formation with wolves on either side. 

The protection worked. The wolf shifted leaped with teeth outstretched, only to be hit back by the invisible protection of the bones in both their clothing. And the closest human shifted twisted and jumped, only to meet the same. They were all werewolves, it didn't matter. 

Stan sprinted to the car, cursing that it was so far away. “Run Ford, for the love of God!” He pumped his legs as fast as they would go. Werewolves screeched in the distance, running, scrabbling.

Ford complied, but with Stan's makeshift boots actually fitting, he just wasn't as fast. “Aren't- aren't we protected!?” Ford still kept up though, despite the fact that the wolves on their trail were being repeatedly knocked back by an invisible barrier.

“Not against trucks, we're not! Keep running!” In predicable response, that was the exact moment that the first engine roared from a Werewolf that had been smart enough to go for a vehicle rather than teeth. In the next split second, Stan heard a painfully loud gunshot. “Or bullets!” 

Ford tore into the passenger side of the car while Stan slid over the hood to the drivers side instinctively. “Shit, shit- Go!” He twisted the ignition before even closing the door, thanking everything that Ford let Stan hold onto the keys even when he was the designated driver. 

“You won't get away with this! You betrayed them to hunters- you betrayed us all!” Stan couldn't tell or care who was yelling this time, too busy slamming the Stanley mobile into movement. “We're gonna-!” Stan slammed the door shut, cutting the shouting off as he pulled a sharp 360 out of the clearing entirely. It was not a moment too soon as one of the trucks chasing them roared through where they had just been, slamming into the tree behind them instead. 

“Hold on, Ford!” Stanley snarled, bracing himself against the seat and letting the muscle memories of past chases come into place. Even with the new feet, he managed to pull full throttle, snow flying under their tires. He ignored the sudden pinch of bending his ankle a way it was no longer meant to bend. 

Ford wordlessly shouted and grabbed onto whatever he could, barely avoiding braining himself on the dash when Stan swerved to avoid the second truck.

There were others, but the Stanley-mobile was fast. Their trucks had the advantage on the unpaved path, but with the head start Stan managed to pull onto the road well enough ahead of them. And on the road, they couldn't hope to catch him with their over-packed trucks. 

Almost as one, the twins breathed. Ford pulled his seat belt on, and Stan copied it with one hand securely at the wheel. 

“I think... they stopped chasing us. Why did they stop chasing us? They seemed pretty, well, angry.” 

Stan adjusted the rear view mirror. Ford was right- it was weird. They had been completely serious about wanting to kill him, Stan heard every note of conviction in their voices. And then, with a sudden feeling of dread, Stan realized he knew exactly why they weren't being pursued.

“They don't have to chase us, Ford. They know where we live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaaa this chapter man, this chapter. Probably would have been up this morning but then I spent several hours last night making friends on a livestream because I am a lonely person
> 
> I hope the double reveal was satisfying. I haven't had much experience in actually foreshadowing and revealing secrets like this. And of course, we know a lot more about one secret (why stan is different) than we do about the other (what stan specifically did). That's on purpose too- it's not as simple as these guys make it sound. 
> 
> also, a note on werewolf packs and terminology. I remember learning somewhere that the idea of alpha=leader, then betas, then omegas in a kind of rigid heirarchy is not a real wolf thing. Apparently that study was done on wolves who didn't know each other and in captivity or something? Anyways, I learned that actual wolf packs don't have a leader like that and instead all work together. Alphas are apparently just wolves who have mates/pups or something like that. So I thought that would make the most sense for werewolves- everyone is more or less on the same level and come to decisions with the help of their mental link- which is more of a feeling/presence link than actual telepathy. And since werewolves main method of reproduction is turning humans, it makes sense that the alpha title is connected to that as well.
> 
> Werewolves like Taylor are on the surface not made any separate from their pack mates, so there's no official/polite term. And omega-spawn is supposed to be a reaally dirty term, like if stan called Taylor that, it would be an insult to him and the entire pack. Ford has little social grace so he didn't catch onto the fact that they were insulting Stan, partly because of what he is, partly because he's packless and therefore they aren't insulting anyone else by default, and partly because he does match many negative stereotypes. Think of people who get bullied not only because they are gay, but because they are "flamboyantly" so. Other gay people, especially if they have a lot of internalized homophobia might think "people like you are what makes us look bad and not get taken seriously"
> 
> I hope I was realistic in showing that sort of thing, and how Stan deals with it. I just don't want it to seem like some transparent attempt to make you all feel sorry for Stan, because it does play into the story and is a big part of werewolf lore and stan's character. But yes it does totally have the added benefit of making things harder for Stan :D


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford prepare for the wolves and also the full moon

Stan had to admit that in the many, many hours he'd spent driving ever since he'd gotten his license, the drive home that day had easily made it into the top ten most tense trips he'd ever been on. Worse than the time Stan had been smuggling goods and a suspicious black vehicle had tailed him for two hours before shooting his tires out and stealing everything. However, not quite as bad as the time he'd been lost in the desert and had to find his way back to civilization with a festering bullet wound in his shoulder. 

Stan held out for about two hours before allowing Ford to take over the driving. Bending his feet like a human's in order to have more stability on the gas and brake pedals caused them to cramp up, but failing to do that was like driving in heels. He could have kept going, but in the end they both agreed that speed and safety were key here.

“Do we need to worry about someone beating us home?” Ford finally broached the subject. His grip on the wheel was tight. 

Stan considered the thought. “Probably not. They probably won't chase us themselves, actually. It's most likely that they're gonna talk to the Westridge and let them deal with it.”

“Westridge... that's the pack that they said you-”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Stan rushed. It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and he cursed himself for not shutting that door just a little sooner. 

“Stanley, this is important. If you had just told me more of the situation, I would have known to be more cautious! Now we are going to have to live with the constant threat of werewolf attacks!”

“Like you're one to talk about being open! I still don't know who that 'he' is that made you put the damn sigil on my back!” 

Ford's knuckles whitened. “That's not-!” He started to yell, and then caught himself. Ford took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, his shoulders slumped. “Nevermind. There's no changing the past. We're just going to have to deal with it. How long would you say we have until someone comes after us?”

Stan shifted, feeling bad. It probably wasn't fair to Ford for Stan to bring up the sigil accident at the start of every disagreement as some kind of trump card. But it was so difficult to avoid pointing out that everything they were forced to do now was essentially Ford's fault. It all went back to the sigil, the warded journal, and Ford's loosely hinged mind. 

“A few days I should think,” Stan finally answered. “I picked this pack- the Huntsville pack- because I know they've been big rivals with the Westridge. Allied packs will keep touch when they can, but enemies have less way to contact each other. It'll be at least a day, maybe two, before they can meet without someone tearing someone's throat out. Even if they act right away, it'll be another day before they get to Gravity Falls. More likely, they'll spend some time making a plan first.”

Ford made a noise of understanding, a frown on his face. “A plan?”

“Well,” Stan shrugged awkwardly. “They really want me dead.” 

Well, indeed.

Both twins were starving and exhausted by the time they pulled up by the shack. Still, rather than eat or sleep, the first thing they did was take every wolf bone worn between them as well as all the rest of the skeleton from the car- sequestered from its hiding spot under the trunk lining. In the biting darkness of the cold winter night, they stumbled along, setting up a rough circle around the house just in case. Stan knew that no animal would touch the bones with his scent on them, but all the same he buried them far under the thick snow cover. 

It was a very good thing that the bones only needed to be near each other to form a solid barrier, because there were nowhere near enough to create an unbroken line. It did manage to ring the house, and with enough extra space to include the stanley-mobile, but little further. Stan felt safer entering the circle, but also horribly trapped. It was worse than when he had first arrived, because now the look in Ford's eyes was even stronger. Stan worried about his mental state now that there was an actual, active threat out there, but he also worried for his own mental state. He knew he wouldn't last long if he were truly trapped in this tiny space. The week and a half before the road trip was proof enough.

“Don't, don't worry about size for now,” Ford assured him with sympathy thick in his voice- as if he'd been reading Stan's mind. “If these bones work like any other number of magical barriers, and I don't see why they shouldn't, there are things I can do. Materials I can add to increase potency, rituals I can make to spread everything thinner. I'll work on it tomorrow. But right now we both need to sleep. 

Stan stared at his brother's weary face. “Yeah, okay.” He hesitated. “And thanks,” he mumbled, immediately trying to duck past Ford.

Instead of succeeding, he was stopped by a six fingered hand on his shoulder. “Thanks? For what? I'm the one who trusted them with my location. I should have known better. And if it weren't for me not being able to solve the problem on my own, we wouldn't have had to go there in the first place! If it weren't for-” Ford's voice closed on itself. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't have had a problem to solve at all.

Stan looked away, wanting to be anywhere else. “I- you didn't know. I could'a said something. I meant, thanks for volunteering your nerd voodoo on the barrier. And well,” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, “for not pushing things.” Ford had 'not pushed' a lot of things. The accident from high school, the fact that Stan was a homeless criminal bum and had been since the age of 17, and of course, Ford had heard what was yelled about Stan in the moments before they escaped. 'Betrayer' was not a word tossed around lightly, and Ford had dropped the subject entirely the second Stan had risen his voice about it. 

He was beginning to think again, that perhaps being kicked out had been a good thing after all. Not for Stan of course, no amount of character building was worth the things he'd had to do to survive. No, better for Ford. Had Stan ever deserved him? 

Ford shuffled, turning to the side in much the same way as Stan. “Think... think nothing of it. You said you couldn't live cooped up.” he said, completely ignoring the bit about not pushing. Stan didn't blame him. “ It wouldn't be fair of me to leave such a short radius when I know I can extend it. It's just a matter of practicality, and plus you mentioned that the barrier only inhibits their direct movement, not any projectiles. Right now there's nothing stopping any werewolf from throwing a pipe bomb through the window, assuming their aim is good enough.” 

Stan sagged against the wall of the shack. “Right.” He wasn't sure what else to say. 

Despite the situation, Ford chuckled- a tiny, quiet sound of amusement. “We really need to sleep. It's almost dawn.” 

Stan was forced to agree. As hungry as he was, and as hungry as Ford must have been as well, neither of them lasted more than a few moments after falling to bed. Stan barely registered Ford's breath abruptly evening out from across the house before he himself lost consciousness. 

It was a good eleven hours before Stan next realized the world was still turning.

Ford was somehow already up despite the fact that his human body should have had him sleeping longer. But it didn't matter- Ford was muttering to himself, pages of diagrams and notes spread over the breakfast table when Stan stumbled in, quietly enough to startle Ford despite the fact that he hadn't even meant to.

Ford jumped nearly a foot in the air when Stan picked up a paper. “What're these for?” 

“Layouts for the new bone barrier. I want to get it set up as soon as possible, but I can't afford any mistakes either. We could be stuck a while if they try to lay a siege of some sort. Of course, I have no plans of allowing that, but that starts with maximizing our safety radius.”

“Alright,” Stan peered at the diagram. It was circular, but with symmetrical lines and arcs and points. “Wouldn't it spread farther if you just made a plain circle?”

Ford furrowed his eyebrows, snatching the paper from Stan's grip. “Ah yes. Usually, you would be right, as the circle has the greatest area to perimeter ratio. But we are dealing with magic, more of a set of beacons than a continuous line barrier. As has been demonstrated, the power does extend some amount past the physical confines of the bone. Otherwise we would have been bitten back there, and keeping the skeleton in its current form would have been entirely impractical.” Ford waved the paper in demonstration. “It is that very feature that allows us to maximize area by instead maximizing distance between nodes. And the best way to do that is through magically significant patterns and shapes.” He drew his finger around the main circle. “It does, however, still follow the general idea of basic geometry.”

Stan coughed. “Alright, nerd.” Privately though, he was a little glad at Ford's enthusiastic tone. If it made him happy, even if it was something like this, that had to be a good thing. 

Ford let out a good natured huff that saw right through Stan's light teasing. “Before we do that though, I'm going to need your help gathering those bones back. I need to grind them down for this to work.” He frowned. “There's... no chance they could be waiting already, is there?”

Stan paused in his process of stealing the toast left out by Ford. “Technically, there is, that's why we put it up last night anyways. But I'll smell 'em if they are, which they most likely aren't.”

“Right, okay.” Ford nodded to himself, forcefully erasing the lines of worry from his face. “As soon as I've finalized the design. It's a good thing I have so many markers out already, it won't take long at all to place it.”

“Markers?” Stan tilted his head at the word. 

“Yes. Markers for key measurement points. These things do follow the same general patterns, which helps.”

“Huh, so this isn't the only barrier you have?” Stan thought that surely he would have felt something if that were the case.

Ford actually laughed at that. “No, of course not. I can't protect against everything of course, but I have so many in place that I may have forgotten a few! It's tough when so many wards are only effective against a single species, sometimes even only a subspecies.” He grinned up at Stan. “Why did you think the snow sprites stopped at the treeline before?”

“Huh.” Stan hadn't thought of that. Maybe he owed Ford's mental state an apology. No wonder he thought his house was some kind of beacon of absolute safety. Apparently it had more wards around it than the white house had security agents. 

He was tempted to take that statement back only shortly after, when Ford's heart rate skyrocketed the second they started collecting the bones again. Stan couldn't say he felt too great about it either, but he had already circled the barrier with his senses straining. There wasn't so much as a stray dog anywhere within smelling distance. 

It really didn't help that Stan was just plain itchy from the second he stepped outside. Ford flinched again when a icicle fell from the edge of the shack's roof. “Look, can we hurry this up?” Stan sniped. “I've got us covered as far as awareness goes, you don't need to jump at everything.” 

“Well excuse me for being cautious,” Ford glared. “You are the one who can tell where all the bones are, while I'm stuck with estimations on how inaccurate our circle was last night.”

“Whatever,” Stan pushed the irritation down- his other form was just begging to be let out and it was not the time. Not until Ford did his thing. And then Stan paused. “How long will this whole thing take, anyways?”

Ford let out an annoyed sigh. “I'm working as fast as I can. Even so, it will be most of the day grinding everything down and enhancing it. I still need to finalize the matrix design...” He shook himself from whatever thought he'd gotten lost in. “No sooner than tonight, no later than tomorrow morning.”

That was manageable, wasn't it? It wasn't like the new moon was tonight, they still had a few days left. Stan rolled his shoulders, getting back to work and ignoring the buzz in his ears. He could make it.

...

He couldn't make it. 

“I'm missing an ingredient.” Ford said calmly, his voice completely at odds with the clenching of his fists. He slammed one of his drawers closed fiercely, before forcing a deep breath. 

“How hard is it to get?”

Ford crossed his arms. “It... it can be difficult. Not impossible, of course, but difficult.”

“Alright. How long will it take us to get it?”

Ford stilled, his eyes jumping to Stan's. “It will take a few hours for me to find some and bring it back.”

Stan could see where this was going immediately. “I'm coming, too.” His skin prickled in agitation. 

Ford, instead of relenting like Stan hoped, closed his expression off. “You're not coming, Stanley. I'm sorry, but you have to stay here.” 

“What, no! Won't it go easier if I come? I mean, it's me this is for, so isn't it fair I help find this ingredient?”

Ford's hand turned to fists again. “That's exactly why you need to stay! It's not safe for you out there!”

Stan scoffed. “And it's safer for you?”

“Yes!” 

“I'm a werewolf! I don't know if you learned this part yet, but we're stronger than the average human! Not invincible sure, but I'd definitely be in less danger than you!” Stan couldn't see why Ford was being so obtuse about this. Stan wasn't some weak little kid. His wolf form ached to come out. “And where do you get off playing the overprotective big brother?”

“Can you blame me!?” Ford threw his hand up. “ I should never have, but I brought you up here anyways, where nothing is safe, and then this happens, and now you have an entire world after you that I barely know about, and-” Ford's voice hitched, “-and you are my little brother.”

Stan deflated. Ford was overworked, overtired, over worried. “By all of fifteen minutes,” Stan finally added, weakly. And then he considered what to say next. “Ford, if it really will only take a few hours, we already covered the fact that no one will be here so soon. The packs aren't a threat right now, but it will be safer and quicker if I come, won't it?”

Ford finally considered the idea honestly, his face furrowing in that way it always did when Ford thought through a problem. But still, he shook his head. “It's still too risky. This close to the full moon, and you've mentioned feeling it stronger since the incident... I bet you're finding it hard not to shift now, aren't you?”

Stan bit his lip. Damn it, Ford was spot on. “I thought so. You seemed agitated earlier, too. It's not safe, you know it's not safe for you to just shift. And you will at the first sign of any danger, won't you?”

In a normal situation, Stan's first response was never to shift, unless he was running from other wolves. He spent too much time against non supernatural threats for that. But in this case, with the normal moon jitters made thrice as bad through that stupid sigil, Stan couldn't deny that he probably would. 

Ford saw the resignation on Stan's face. “I thought so. Stanley, we don't know what would happen if you shift now. If you lose your mind and turn omega because of me, I don't know what I'd do.” 

Stan's heart tightened in pain. Ford's expression was almost broken, and more than helpless. Stan wanted to take whatever was worrying him and chase it off, just like he always used to. But that wasn't possible here. Stan himself was the cause, and somehow, he didn't think chasing himself off would ease Ford's worry at all.

“The full moon is soon, like you said,” Stan hated himself for making this argument, but he had to anyways. “Even if I wait until you do this and come back, and then wait for you to do your tests, what's the point? If they show that I'll go omega, well, I won't have a choice about shifting on the moon anyways. I'd only save myself a few days that way.”

Ford flinched violently. “I could work on a counter! A way to hold it back, prevent it-”

“You wouldn't have the time, Ford.” Stan hated Ford's wounded look even more. They both knew Stan was right. “I'm either screwed or not screwed, but either way there's only a few days to find out. And that being said, if you do get into danger, I'd rather go omega a little earlier than let you get hurt or killed.”

Suddenly, Stan felt himself drawn into a hug. Ford's grip was stronger than expected, fingers digging deep into Stan's ratty coat and trembling slightly. “I don't want you to do that.” Ford mumbled. “Please, if I can keep you a few more days, maybe I can find something.”

Stan returned the hug as best he could. “If you get into danger, you wouldn't be able to help me, anyways. You've always been a fan of logic right? Can't you see-”

“I can see!” Ford's voice was louder, but no less miserable. “I know, okay? You're right and I know you're right. But please, stay anyways. I can't,” Ford's throat audibly closed. Stan heard him swallow. “I can't handle worrying about that on top of everything else right now.”

Stan cringed. He could see it, in fact he could see it since he had arrived and especially after that snow sprite incident. Ford had said it himself, he was not okay. Stan squeezed his arms a little more tightly around his brother. There was clearly more to think about than physical danger here, and Stan cursed himself for forgetting that. 

Ford had always been strong, but he had also always been the worrier out of the two. That Stan had caused that worry to go out of control, when he already knew Ford's mental state was compromised? Stan sighed. 

“If I stayed, would that really make you better off?” 

Ford's sudden smile was blindingly grateful. He grabbed Stan's shoulders. “Yes, if you could, if you could just stay in the basement, behind all the security, I would feel so much better.” Already, Ford's breathing had lightened, the rapid pattering of his heart steadying. 

What else could Stan do? “Fine, alright, I'll stay behind. But on one condition.” 

“Anything!” 

“You have to tell me exactly where you're going, and you have to keep a line open. Some way to communicate, so you can tell me if something's gone wrong.” Stan was resolute, even as Ford's face crumpled again. 

“But, how do I know you won't just follow me, then? Or at the first sign of something? That would defeat the purpose of keeping you here and safe.”

“Ford, I've agreed to stay. But if you end up in mortal danger, I won't exactly be safe anymore, will I? I'm not budging on this.” 

Ford let out a long sigh. “Alright. But you have to promise to not come after me until I'm in enough trouble that I ask for help.”

“It's a deal, I promise.” For the most part, Stan figured as he winced at another twinge from his shoulder. Ford was stubborn, he would never ask for help. Stan would only come after Ford if he got into trouble, but he wasn't going to wait for an invitation. Ford looked conflicted, like he'd managed to guess Stan's thoughts. That wouldn't be unreasonable, they were still twins even after all this time. In the end, Ford shook Stan's hand anyways.

()()()

In the end, Stan had been given a walkie talkie. 

“It was that simple the whole time?” Stan mused. 

“What? You wanted a way to communicate, and here it is.” Ford was packing a rucksack of sorts. Stan hardly recognized what was going in it, though. One moment, he seemed to be reaching for some kind of home made bug spray in a squirt bottle. The next moment, Stan caught sight of the edge of a taped label reading “leprecorn-b-gone” of all things. 

“Well, yeah, but I'm surprised you had these just lying around. I thought you were alone out here.” Stan sincerely hoped there were no secret coworkers. He didn't want anyone else seeing him like this. 

“I am.” Ford hesitated, his expression turning guilty. “But I didn't used to be. I had an assistant working on the portal before things got... out of hand.” 

That was news. “Wait, wait, wait,” Stan waved his hands through the air. “You had an assistant? What happened to them? Does it have anything to do with, y'know?” Stan gestured in Ford's general direction. 

Ford stilled in his packing at that, hands squeezing around the lip of the sack. “I- it doesn't matter. He's gone now. There's a lot more to that story than my old assistant.”

Stan dropped it at that. His assistant was... gone? Immediately, the danger stakes in Stan's mind rose. If Ford could be so nonchalant- well okay, not nonchalant, but definitely numb- to his assistant getting offed by some supernatural nonsense, then this was worse than he had thought. Again, it seemed to connect to Ford's clear instability, his paranoia, those research journals, and that portal. 

“Anyways,” Ford put one final object in the bag- was that a pack of bendy straws?- before closing it and turning to Stan. “Until I return, you aren't leaving the basement, right?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Not leaving the house, got it.”

“No, Stanley. Don't leave the basement. It's the most secure place in the house, and all of the controls are here, including the camera feed.” Ford pattered over to one console and gestured for Stan to follow. “See, you can change channels like so, or view all at once. And over here is the lock-down. It only locks the basement down, so again, you need to stay down here.”

“Oh, come on Ford, what if I'm hungry? Or need to use the washroom?” Stan wheedled. 

Ford put a hand against his forehead. “Then I'd suggest taking care of that now. There is some limited food down here already.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I'm not actually hungry or anything. But don't you think this is overdoing it a little? I thought the whole house was safe. Usually you can't get me out of the basement fast enough.”

Ford sighed. “Please Stanley, just humour me. And usually, I'm working on time sensitive work and can't afford to be bothered. It has nothing to do with not wanting you down here.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Just don't take too long.” Somehow, Stan doubted that last statement. But now wasn't the time to argue, he just knew he'd be sick of the basement before long. Already, Stan was glancing at the camera feed outside, where there was space to run with fresh air under the moon. 

Ford clasped Stan's good shoulder firmly. “I promise, I'll be as quick as possible. Just stay here”, he stressed again.

“Got it Poindexter, now get a move on.” Despite his words, Stan couldn't help but lean into the familiar touch. How long had it been since he had real and friendly contact with anyone, never mind the brother he'd been missing for over a decade? And now, Stan was getting a hug here, a shoulder tap there, a hand held as they raced through the forest from snow sprites or werewolves... 

Clearly, those guys had some idea when it came to the whole 'werewolves need a pack' thing, because Stan was getting far too sentimental. Stan didn't want to think about it, but either they were right in a way, or Stan would have been just as touch starved as a normal human. Maybe both. Stan snorted. 

Ford quirked his lips, returning the amused sentiment despite not being clear on where it came from. “Alright, I'm off now.” He made for the elevator, and turned back one last time. “You'll... actually stay down here, right?” Even from across the room, Stan saw Ford tightening his hold on the bag. He always did that, to prevent the nervous habit of biting his nails. 

Stan sighed. “As long as you keep contact,” He waved his walkie talkie, “and as long as you don't need me to bail you out.”

Ford let out a long, relieved breath. “Of course.” And then finally, he left.

The basement seemed immediately twice as ominous and three times as uncomfortable when Stan knew he was alone. 

For the first hour, Stan occupied himself. There were a few cameras to switch between on the monitor. Stan liked the one mounted on a pole, it gave a nice view of the Stanley-mobile. There was also the one by the back of the house, offering a look at the tree line. Stan could even see the tire tracks from the little gold cart Ford had taken, disappearing through one of those narrow forest trails. 

It was, honestly, rather impressive that Ford had jerry-rigged a golf cart to be able to drive through the sheer levels of snow around here. The poor thing was rather dinged up too, from what Stan had seen at a glance. And speaking of, Stan glanced at the nearby digital clock. It had been a little while.

“Hey, Ford, you in?” Stan released the speak button. The walkie talkie hissed and crackled.

It took a few minutes before the message was obligingly returned. “It's been twenty minutes, Stanley. Nothing's changed.” Ford's voice sounded strained, almost.

“Something wrong?” Stan picked up on it immediately. He didn't need advanced hearing for that.

There was another pause. “What? No! Spelunking isn't exactly casual exercise, you know.” And now that Ford mentioned it, Stan could hear the exertion. It was tiredness, not pain. 

“Just making sure. You anywhere near the... whatever it is you need?”

“Aurum crystal formation, and yes, somewhat. Just need to get past the Snurble nests.”

Stan snorted. “Snurbles? Those sound threatening.”

“Yeah, well, you've never met them. Anything that works well in a group is something to be feared.” In the following static, Stan could have sworn he heard the words “damn gnomes”, but surely if gnomes existed, Stan would have already known about it. 

Ford didn't follow up, and Stan couldn't think of anything else to say, so he left it at that. 

There really wasn't much to do down here. Ford should have at least set up a dartboard or something. Stan started rifling through the shelves and drawers. There were textbooks on complicated physics as well as cheap notebooks filled with technical writing and formulas. Stan flipped through them, vaguely impressed by the obvious complicated nature of the math, but with the passive interest of someone who had no idea what they were looking at. 

Some of the notebooks had a different writing in them. Ford always wrote neatly, almost fancily. Much different from Stan's usual scrawl. And also very different from the cramped, thick writing Stan could see mixing with what was obviously his brother's. The assistant, perhaps? Stan peered closer- the mystery writing was neat and precise, but more efficient than anything. It was almost hard to make out the letters, as tightly packed as they were, and the way they slanted the further down the page they went. Stan shook his head- the poor sap didn't deserve whatever happened to him. Probably, the same thing that shook Ford up so hard. Stan wondered if Ford had even set up a grave for the guy, since Stanley would bet his car that the death had gone unreported.

Closing the notebook firmly, Stan took a look at the next drawer. The handle rattled without moving. Locked? Oh, Ford knew better than to press Stan into staying in a boring room for hours with a drawer that was locked. Stan didn't think twice of grabbing the grubby picks stowed in the lining of his coat.

The lock popped open with a pathetic little click. Stan scoffed- it hadn't taken more than a minute. “Now, let's see what good old Sixer's hiding..” Stan grinned. Porn, most likely, but Stan was easily immature enough to laugh at his brother's porn stash. Besides, maybe it would be weird math porn. Scantily clad ladies giving lessons in trigonometry? 

Disappointingly, there was no porn. Instead, Stan flinched back before his hands could delve deeper, some sharp instinct warning him. More carefully, he lifted the few papers up. The journal was there, with its gold foil six-fingered hand and a painted “1” right in the middle. Stan hesitated- he remembered how much it had hurt. Even without common sense, the supernatural corner of his brain was warning him those defenses hadn't gone down since the last encounter. 

Stan didn't want to get magically electrocuted again. But at the same time, he did have a morbid curiosity. What was in here that warranted those defenses? Heck, whatever was in here was apparently dangerous enough for Ford to call him in the first place. No contact for over ten years, and Ford broke his silence because he needed to hide this?

There was that, and there was the fact that Stan would be here for a while. Ford never asked him not to look through the journal. And he'd trusted Stan to hide it, so surely it was fine for Stan to look through it, just a bit. 

Most people might consider the fact that the book burned upon contact and accept that looking through it was impossible. But Stan was nothing if not resourceful- heck, he'd managed to chew his way through the trunk of a car! And that had been around the new moon, too! 

In this case, the solution was simple. Stan plucked up two normal notebooks. Carefully, he pinched the journal between the two spines and lifted slowly. It only slipped twice before he managed the friction necessary to drag it out. Then, he let the journal flop onto the ground. Stan could just tell that he couldn't get too close to it- something told him the shock would definitely jump through something as thin as fabric. But if he kept a good few inches, well, he wasn't burning right now, was he? Stan grabbed a nearby pencil and used it to lift the cover. 

“This thing is more worn than I thought,” Stan mused, using the eraser end of the pencil to slide a page up and slip between the resulting gap. The pages were less protected than the binding, thankfully, but Stan still didn't dare touch it. 

There were many interesting things in the journal. Lots of them were locations, calculations, strange features. Stan carefully spilled the journal to the other end, just to see what the last entries were. And then he caught sight of one entry. 

“Werewolf”.

Unable to help himself, Stan flipped back until he reached it again. He knew that by now, Ford knew better, obviously. But what had Ford already gathered? He only knew about omegas before, true, but it wasn't like Stan knew much about omegas himself, besides the basics. 

On the front page was a very convincing depiction of an omega werewolf. Stan whistled- Ford always did like drawing more than he'd ever admit. Something about science smarts versus art smarts, but Stan knew very well Ford had both- and neither detracted from the other. 

“Half man half wolf. Unlike what popular media suggests, they do not change forms on the full moon or any day of the month. Very active, almost manic on full moons.”

Further down, under some table that appeared to show days observed- and had Ford really observed an omega for two and a half months straight?- Stan read on.

“Saliva samples appear to be normal, except for a viral component only released on the full moon. Is this the werewolf transformation bite? Attacks human cells only, but effects not visible on small cell samples. No test subjects, that would be immoral (darn!)”

Stan snorted. Darn, indeed. 

“Werewolves appear to have no human speech capabilities, and less than human intelligence. However, they are smarter than the average wolf, able to recognize simple speech patterns. A holdover from past humanity?”

Stan kept reading, interested despite himself. He hadn't known omegas were anything but pure wolf when it came to the mind, to be honest. Stan flipped the page. Surprisingly, there was an awkward pop out section, several pages taped haphazardly in place. Were they additions? But there was nothing written. Maybe Ford was still getting to that part.

Almost as if on cue, the walkie talkie stuttered to life. Stan jumped to attention, grabbing the device. He could hear shuffling, static, and was that the sound of air? Did Ford manage to accidentally hold the speak button down? Stan groaned- his device wouldn't be able to speak as long as Ford's side was still broadcasting. The walkie talkie growled back.

“What-?” Stan stared at the piece of plastic in shock. There it was again- a growl, Stan couldn't tell what from. And then, a muffled swear, sounding too far away from the microphone. “Ford, what's happening?” Stan asked thin air. He didn't like the sound of this, his danger senses already tingling. 

Suddenly, there was a wordless yell that definitely came from Ford, before the entire device went silent. Seizing his chance, Stan activated his end. “Ford! Ford, come in! What's wrong!?”

There was a horrifying silence, far too long. Stan glanced at the elevator. If he left now, could he...? And the Ford finally answered, completely out of breath. “I-I'm f-fine!” Stan could hear the pounding of feet in a dead sprint. “Noth-ing! Too worry-worry 'bout!”

“Ford, what the hell! What's chasing you, where are you? I'll come and get you!” 

“No!” The shout was louder than the rest. “You can't! I can get away!” 

But Stan could hear the panic, the desperation. It was from more than wanting Stan to stay. And worst of all, Stan could hear the snarling of something in the far too close distance.

“Damn it, you're not fine! Stanford, what's chasing you!”

“Nothing!”

“Like hell it's nothing! I'm coming for ya!”

“You promised!” 

Stan snarled, his voice dipping into werewolf tones. “So did you!” And then, Stan turned the walkie talkie off and sprinted for the lift. He had a brother to catch. 

Thankfully, unless Ford had been lying, Stan only had to follow the route he had been given. Ford definitely sounded outside, so he'd clearly gotten the crystals already. But Stan would have to be quick, and there was nothing left that could drive the narrow paths.

Well, Stan did say before that he was willing to turn omega if it came to this. But just in case, he nabbed an amulet hanging from a long cloth loop off a stand on the ground floor. Quickly, Stan tore the amulet off and knotted the necklace part around the walkie talkie. Stan then tossed the contraption around his neck. When he turned it back on, there was no sound, as if Ford had given up reasoning. Or something worse had happened. 

Stan's resolve steeled. He knew what had to be done. Not bothering to struggle into his makeshift boots, Stan sprinted out the door. It was only moments before he was on four paws, sliding into the second form like a favourite pair of socks. 

The world burst around him, a moment of conflicting scents and sights and sounds before settling into familiarity. He'd thought his hearing and smell were enhanced before. It was almost too much now- is this what omegas felt? Stan pounded after the trail his brother had left- so obvious it might as well be a line of bright red yarn through the winding paths. 

Branches whipped past him. He felt larger somehow, stronger, maybe even faster. It wasn't quite his old wolf form. There was something different. Again, his mind supplied the visual of an omega. But Stan couldn't afford to think about that, he had to find Ford. 

The scent trail grew stronger, slowly stronger. Stan almost sprawled over the golf cart, left sitting as the path became rocky and impossible to drive on. He was near, he knew it. 

Stan heard Ford before he saw him. The sounds of human shouting were almost faint. Stan clawed himself over the ledge of a giant boulder, practically flying over it. 

Half a dozen giant winged creatures, human sized perhaps, were circling and diving over a narrow gap between two boulders. Stan did not have to catch sight of the brown coat to know what was going on. With a loud snarl, Stan sprinted and leaped, catching one right out of midair. They didn't stand a chance, whatever the creatures were. They screeched and howled , but these enemies were nothing. Blood coated Stan's teeth and matted his fur. He hardly felt it- they were practically prey! How dare they attack his pack brother!? 

The last remaining tried to fly away, leg broken but wings working. Stan couldn't allow that, springing into a massive, almost vertical leap and twisting to catch it. It's skull cracked against the rocks below, but Stan tore its throat to be certain. And then there was nothing. 

The next sensation Stan felt, besides the buzz of adrenaline and victory nearly caused him to jump. Impossibly tiny fingers digging into his coat, stroking down. A familiar, soothing voice that stuttered strangely. Stan flicked an ear in appreciation despite the strange, almost warbling quality to the noise. The fingers followed his motion, scratching under Stan's ear.

That... that felt nice. Stan turned his head, almost lazily. His pack-brother, no, his regular, human blood brother. Stan didn't have a pack. Right. He shook his head in confusion. What- pack? No. Action? Done, all done. Stan flopped onto the ground. The bodies of enemies were strewn around. It was a good victory.

His brother was still talking, still scratching by his ear. Now he was practically leaning against Stan. Stan leaned towards him- pack or no, the contact was from a loved on and therefore nice. 

What... what was the difference between loved and pack? Wasn't pack loved? But he wasn't pack with his brother, there was no link. Or, there was a link? Stan was confused. He needed his humanity for this, it was too complicated. And was that something wet coming from his brother? Not the saliva of grooming, but some eye discharge? Crying, he was crying.

Stan's mind was thick like molasses. It didn't want to think about anything complicated, and it definitely didn't want to shift. But an increasingly large part of him realized he had to. Firmly, Stan focused on human thoughts and his human self. Slowly, far too slowly, he felt the shift settle over him. His muscles rippled and contracted, his fur shriveled back up, his snout melted away to wherever it always went. In return, Stan felt his clothes billowing back out over his naked human form. 

Abruptly, Ford stepped back, but now Stan could clearly recognize the sobbing for what is was. “m'fine, sixer. Back to normal.” Stan coughed.

“I- I thought you weren't coming back! You looked like- you couldn't hear me!” Immediately, Stan was swamped in a bear hug. Ford had caught him from the side, so Stan couldn't even return it properly. 

“I, well, didn't, really. It's hard, this close to the full moon. But I did it, yeah? Now we know.”

“No, now we do not know! You could have lost your mind! And who knows if it won't be possible to shift back after the full moon!” Ford wiped fiercely at his eyes. “You said you wouldn't leave! What were you thinking?”

Stan huffed a laugh. “What was I thinking? You also promised to call me if you got into trouble! And that looked like a lot of trouble!”

“I- I would have found a way out of it! Those were Hippogriff's, they're only active during the day.”

“And I'm sure the way home would have been so much safer at night? And they wouldn't have found any way at all under that rock of yours?”

Ford tightened his hold on Stan briefly, before finally releasing. “That's not the point, I didn't ask for your-!” He cut himself off. “Nevermind, let's just get back to the shack.”

Stan wilted at that. His brother looks defeated, stressed, his eyes red from crying. He really cared. Stan objectively knew that Ford had to care on some level past the general “oh I'm sorry for burning a magical spell into you”. But to see it now, in the tear tracks down his cheeks? 

“I'm sorry for leaving.” Stan muttered, just loud enough for Ford to hear. “I didn't want you to get offed while I sat and did nothing.”

“I-” Ford clasped Stan's sleeve for stability, his body obviously overworked from before. “I didn't want you to be in danger. I'm just so afraid you'll lose yourself and it'll be my fault. It could have been my fault tonight.”

Stan pulled Ford up by the elbow. “That's enough sap for now. Come on, let's get back to the shack. It's cold out here, and I don't have any shoes.” 

“Right.” They stumbled back to the cart. Not another word was spoken the entire trip home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i feel a little bad for accidentally supplying the possibility of "werewolf stan and human ford become homeless together and wander the country fighting other werewolves" because that sounds super cool but definitely does not happen in this story haha. (that being said the idea of stan showing his bro the intricate do's and don'ts of the drifter lifestyle is something i would absolutely read)
> 
> -also im laughing inside about stan thinking fiddleford is dead. ford, stop being insufferably vague
> 
> -aurum crystals are inspired by "aurum regis" a type of metal in ffxiv (that I'm pretty sure is made up? like mythril) which is a game I am really into! I play as Khoure Tayuun on Lamia server, if any of you are on Lamia hit me up! Snurbles are also an enemy in ffxiv. They're little fluff balls that people farm for snurble tufts I believe (needed as an ingredient for a cloth material)


End file.
